The Art of Love
by TheGoldenAge
Summary: When Hermione drags Ginny to another art class, she ends up learning more about herself than she ever bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Ginny rolled onto the bed next to Harry, exhaling happily. "Once again, babe, you manage to outdo yourself every time."

Harry smiled rather sleepily. "You weren't too shabby yourself. As usual."

Ginny grinned at her boyfriend and pulled the sheet up over her chest. "And now, you've got to get to work. I can't have worn you out already."

"Forget work," Harry murmured, brushing Ginny's tousled hair from her neck and kissing the bare skin. "I want to stay with you."

"No way, lazy bones," she replied, her voice soft. "Come on, up you get. Let's get a shower."

"Now there's something to get me out of bed," Harry said, practically jumping off the mattress. "Are you coming?"

When Harry had Flooed off to the Auror Office, Ginny poured herself a second cup of coffee and sat staring out her kitchen window. Her life was perfect. She and Harry lived in the much cheerier and cleaner Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and had for nearly two months. She and Hermione were still best friends and saw each other often. She worked part-time with George - when Ginny had agreed to move in with Harry she'd insisted on working still, and Harry had reluctantly compromised on a part-time job. They had more money than Ginny had ever thought about, enough to keep her parents comfortable and happy and to buy clever gifts for her beloved niece and nephews. Her goddaughter, Victoire, was two years old and perfect.

And yet, something was wrong.

She couldn't quite figure out why, but Ginny had been restless. She couldn't even tell when it had started; it seemed to come on gradually until she could barely sit still sometimes. She had joined a Muggle pottery class and ended up surreptitiously charming her work when she didn't have the patience for manual labor. She'd joined a Quidditch club team, but hadn't found anything exciting (or anyone under the age of forty). She'd even gone to a book club with Hermione, but once she found that every hero was a thinly veiled model of her boyfriend, she'd had to give that up. She was constantly trying new things, always looking for somewhere to go or something to do.

"But why?" Ginny asked herself aloud, putting her mug in the sink. "I have everything I could possibly want at my fingertips. Or in my bank account - well, Harry's, anyway. I've got a house, a boyfriend, I don't want kids yet, I've got friends, a nice job, elder brothers that aren't complete prats, Victoire…"

Her voice trailed off as she absently picked up the Daily Prophet. Harry always read it while she cooked breakfast or got ready, and she could do what she liked with it when he left for work. She flipped to the classifieds section, sort of idly hoping there would be something of interest there - in vain, as always. Checking the clock on the stove, Ginny decided to negate her shower on a run around the neighborhood before work. At least she'd be out of the house.

"Hi, George," Ginny called as she closed the back door behind her.

"Someone's early," the one-eared redhead retorted from somewhere in the shop. Ginny deposited her broom and coat on the shelves provided and went in to find her brother.

"You're not even supposed to start work for another half hour," George remarked from the top of a ladder. "Send up that box, will you?"

With a wave of her wand, Ginny sent a crate of Skiving Snackboxes flying up to George. "I know, I figured you might want some help. Couldn't you do all that shelving by magic?"

"I'd lose the personal touch," George chuckled. "Besides, I've got some extra time. Alicia's gone off to Africa to visit her father."

Ginny shook her head. "You should take a cue from your girlfriend and go off somewhere yourself. You've got me, Verity, and Ernie to mind the shop and I'm sure some other people could help out, in a pinch."

"You make it sound like I've locked myself away in my work," George scoffed, clambering off the ladder with more speed than grace. "Truth is, little sis, I think you're the one that wants to get away for a while. In fact, I don't see why you haven't."

Ginny frowned. She had gone traveling last year, before she'd moved in with Harry. She'd been doing a stint as a columnist for the Daily Prophet and had done some profiles on Curse Breakers around the world. Bill had given her a list of his friends to interview, and Ginny had loved traveling everywhere from Mexico to Egypt to India and back… But now that she lived with Harry, traveling alone sounded rude at best and at worst impossible. The thought of traveling with her boyfriend was vaguely pleasant, but only vaguely.

Ginny condensed this dilemma into a dismissive wave of her hand. "You know I've traveled a lot already, George, before I put myself here," she said. "You, on the other hand, have had both feet firmly on English soil for longer than I can remember."

"I guess I just like it here," George said, shouldering a box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder carefully. "I don't have anything to draw me away from here."

"You don't want to see the wonders of the world, Georgie?" Ginny asked playfully, stacking love potions on a heart-themed display that made her feel nauseous.

"I've got all the wonders I need at home, here," George said. "They never cease, you know."

And that's when Hermione burst through the back door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Ginny, I absolutely need you this evening," Hermione began unceremoniously. "You've got to go somewhere with me."

"What if I'm busy?" Ginny sighed, hugging the rushed-looking brunette. "You can't just walk in and demand that I go places with you."

"Well, I wouldn't just walk in but I've popped over on my lunch break," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "You absolutely must go with me this evening, Ginny, I've signed up for another class and I can't go alone."

Ginny sighed. Along with the book club, Hermione had dragged Ginny to class after class after class, whether it was evening segments on the history of western civilization or early morning Bikram yoga or Sunday afternoon drawing sessions. Ginny usually went at least once, partly to do something nice for Hermione and partly because she was sort of hoping she'd find something to capture her interest and get rid of that nagging sense of restlessness. So far it hadn't quite happened that way, but it was always interesting to watch the perennially studious Hermione diligently work at courses that were mostly meant for entertainment. Also, it was an unusual look at Muggle culture for Ginny. Hermione, of course, had grown up studying things like art and music by choice; for Ginny, that had never been an option. Her mum had taught her reading and writing and things like that, Hogwarts had taught her the rest, and then she never wanted to see another homework assignment in her life. Hermione and (to Ginny's surprise) most other Muggles seemed to think quite the opposite. Learning about Picasso or Mozart or whomever was in the text for that day seemed to be something that they not only enjoyed, but which also gave them some sort of sophistication or distinction among their peers. Ginny's dad had never learnt that in his study of Muggles.

However, Ginny had felt neither sophisticated nor distinguished after five or six classes with Hermione on every subject imaginable, so she had little inclination to go with her on whatever "novel" idea she'd come up with. Ginny was about ready to sink into the routine of her life and just settle for being vaguely happy with her boyfriend and her part-time job and her just-okay life.

"Please, dear," Hermione pleaded, breaking Ginny's mental thread. "I promise, you'll like this one. It's a painting class."

George snorted from the shelves. "Hermione, have you ever seen any of Ginny's other artwork? Her drawings looked like grave rubbings, her pottery could be extremely useful as a chamber pot… My sister is many things, but a great artist, she is not."

Ginny flared up. "I can make art much better than you can," she huffed. "Hermione, if you ever come to my house, remind me to show you George's pathetic attempt at a macaroni sculpture that he made in daycare."

"You guys went to daycare?" Hermione asked, momentarily distracted. "I always pictured your mum as a stay-at-home parent."

"Not always," Ginny said. "When Fred and George were little, she was still out working. It was only after Ron came and she realized she couldn't work and handle six kids that she quit her job and came home to live with us."

"Where did she work?" Hermione asked.

George snickered as he finished stacking his boxes and came over to physically join the conversation. "Of course she was a nurse in St. Mungo's, Hermione," he answered. "Could you really expect anything else from our mother?"

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "I never would have guessed that," she said. "It's so weird to imagine your mother working… And I know you two are trying to distract me," she added testily. "Ginny, you have to go to this class with me. It's at night, specifically designed for people who work and need to de-stress after a long day at the office. Or, in your case, the joke shop."

"I don't know, Hermione," Ginny fretted. "As much as I hate to say it, George is right, I'm not a very great artist, and Harry will probably want to spend time with me after work and things."

"It's two nights a week, Ginny, and Harry can have you every other night-"

"-which I'm sure he does," George interjected suggestively, winking cheekily at his little sister. Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother as Hermione continued.

"-and the class is especially for witches and wizards. Ginny, I promise, you'll love it, and if you don't, I guess you don't have to keep coming anymore. Tonight is the first session, so you won't even be behind or anything like that."

Ginny paused for a second and sighed. "Well, all right, Hermione, I guess I could go just once. Tonight. Only. This one time."

"Thank you so much, Ginny," Hermione squealed, hugging her friend. "I've absolutely got to get back to the office now, but I'll come to your place a little before eight and we'll Apparate together. I'm so glad you decided to do this, Ginny," she added as she opened the back door. "I think you need something to shake you up."

And with that, Hermione disappeared in the twirl of Apparition.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

At six o'clock on the dot, Ginny turned the key to her flat and stepped inside, locking the door behind her. She dropped her key ring on the side table and walked down the hall, pulling off her scarf and unbuttoning her coat as she did so.

"Harry!" she called, hanging her outerwear in the hall closet and turning on the kitchen lights. "Harry, dear, are you here?"

"Yeah, sorry, Ginny," Harry called from the far room. "I've just got one more paper to go through, then I'll be out."

Ginny smiled at her boyfriend from around the corner. "I'll get something together for dinner, babe."

Harry smiled wearily back. "Thanks so much. You're perfect, Ginny, you know that?"

Ginny felt her breath catch in her throat the way it always did when Harry said things like that. She was never sure whether it was from fear or pleasure. It might have been a combination of the two. "I doubt you'd let me forget it," she responded cheekily as she went to the cabinets, opening and closing doors willy-nilly as she looked for something worth making that she could cook. Eventually she decided to quietly order a pizza, cursing her utter lack of culinary skills. What had happened to so solidly scramble her genetic pattern that she received no cooking talent from Molly Weasley, arguably the best cook in the wizarding world? Ginny doubted she'd ever figure it out.

Just as she completed this thought, she felt a pair of arms slide around her waist. Harry kissed her cheek and rested his head on her shoulder, sighing against her neck. "I'm guessing you got a Chinese?" he asked, and Ginny could hear the smile in her boyfriend's voice.

"It was a pizza this time," she replied, twining her fingers around his and leaning back against him. "I hope you don't mind, but I've got to eat a bit fast tonight."

"Mmm, why is that?" asked Harry, kissing the hollow of her shoulder. "I'd sort of wanted you to myself tonight."

Ginny sighed in wasted anticipation and explained the situation to Harry. "Hermione seemed so desperate for me to go to this painting class with her that I couldn't say no. I told her I'd only go tonight, and even if, Merlin forbid, I decide to keep going with her, it'll only be two nights a week. It's a painting class, Harry. I'll paint you something lovely."

Harry groaned. "I feel like you and Hermione are in more of a romantic relationship than you and I are, sometimes," he chided gently.

"Well, I've never shagged Hermione like I have you," Ginny quipped, "although I might have thought about it."

Harry pulled his head back to look at his girlfriend, his eyes widening. "Really? When was that?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Ginny laughed, gently disengaging herself. "It was during my wild younger days."

"As if you're not wild now," Harry murmured, pulling her against him again. "Come on, Ginny, don't go to the class. Stay at home with me tonight."

Ginny sighed. "Harry, I've spent a lot of time with you lately. I think giving one night to Hermione won't hurt. Besides, the class is only until nine thirty, so I'll be home before you go to bed, most likely."

"Not if Hermione has a choice," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure the two of you will be Flooed in by a designated wizard at two in the morning and I'll have to put you both to bed and make you hangover potion in the morning."

"That was one time," Ginny said. "I heard the doorbell ring, dear, so let's get the pizza and have our dinner, all right?"

"All right, darling," Harry said. As Ginny made to head to the door, he caught her wrist and looked into her eyes. "I love you so much, Ginny," he said. "You know that, right?"

"Of course," Ginny replied, her mind going utterly blank for a second at his intensity. "Of course I know that, and I love you too."

Harry smiled warmly and released her. "All right, sous chef, bring out the entree."

At seven fifty-three, the doorbell rang again. Ginny was still putting the finishing touches on a ponytail that she thought looked artsy yet would be prohibitive to paint getting in her hair, so Harry answered the door. She heard his and Hermione's voices drifting up to her room through the open door, the kind of friendly ease that had existed between them for as long as Ginny had known them. She put one more bobby pin into her elaborately-crafted illusion of messiness, slipped on her shoes, and headed down the stairs, right into Hermione's arms.

"Thanks again so much," the brunette gushed to Ginny. "You'll love it, I promise, and if you don't you don't have to come back, I swear."

"I know, Hermione, I know," Ginny replied, patting her friend on the back until they separated. "Now let me say goodbye to my boyfriend."

Harry smiled at Ginny. "Bye, dear. I hope I'm still awake when you get home."

"Bye, Harry," Ginny replied, kissing him lightly and turning back to Hermione.

"She'll be back on time, I promise," Hermione promised, grabbing Ginny's elbow and twisting her into Apparition. The last thing Ginny saw was Harry's smiling face, sending her off again to some weird situation with her best friend.

The two women landed right outside a tall, pale building fronted by two strange gargoyles. Although it might have been forbidding in the dark, the facade was well-lit, and the overall effect was strangely welcoming despite the snarling statues. There was a banner-shaped carving on the front that read "Magic as Art," which somewhat confused Ginny for a moment.

"Hermione," she said slowly, "what exactly is this class?"

"It's a sort of painting with magic type of thing," Hermione explained, dragging Ginny up the steps by the elbow she still grasped. "The instructor is a wizard, and the whole point of the class is to learn how to be creative with your magic in a healthy environment where you won't accidentally injure anyone. It's supposed to relax you, make you more in tune with your magic, and of course make a bunch of art, you know."

Ginny nodded. "To be honest, Hermione, that sounds a lot more interesting than whatever you told me earlier. If you'd said I wouldn't have to actually paint, I would have gone a lot more willingly."

"Well, I can never really predict how you'll act, you know," Hermione replied, pulling open the front door.

Inside was almost as brightly, and certainly as well, lit as the outside. Various works of art hung on the walls; some were definite pictures, some were merely blobs of color, some were clearly magical statues that moved with Hermione and Ginny as they passed through the pale-carpeted atrium and into the stairwell. The front desk was empty; Ginny attributed this to the relative lateness of the hour.

When they reached the third and final floor, Hermione led Ginny down a wood-paneled hallway and through an open door into a bright classroom. The floor was white, as were the walls, but it was difficult to see that initially as all the surfaces were spattered with paint. Easels with canvases and pads of paper were set up all around the room and there were shelves and shelves worth of paint. Ginny could see flashes of every color on tubes, jars, and other containers. A lightly-accented voice floated across the room from behind an easel, where two pairs of feet were visible between the legs.

"...so you see, Mr. Davies, it turns out much more creative if you just let your wand hang loose. We'll learn about that as we begin the term here, I really think you'll like this class."

Just as whomever it was finished this sentence, Hermione brought her foot down awkwardly on the floor and stumbled. The two people behind the easel- who turned out to be men- both looked over the easel to see what had made the noise. Ginny stopped dead for a second.

"Oliver?" she said, looking at the familiar face peering over the canvas. "Is that you?"

"Blimey," said one man, obviously the one who had been speaking before. "Is that Ginny Weasley with you, Hermione?"

"Wow," Hermione said, somewhat comically. "I just thought you were a different Oliver Wood when I signed up."

Oliver laughed and stepped from behind the easel, wiping his hands on a rag hanging out of his pocket. "Nope, the one and only. You're both intrigued by my painting technique, hmm?"

"You could say that," Hermione replied.

"You could not," Ginny muttered, rolling her eyes surreptitiously- or so she thought, apparently, because Oliver turned his gaze to her with a twinkle in his eye.

"So, Ginny, you're not as keen an artist as Hermione," he said, sauntering over to her.

"I don't think so," she said, trying to be gracious. "I mean, Hermione's brought me to a load of art stuff and it's never worked out for me. I guess I just don't have the gift like she does."

"More like the patience," Hermione interjected. "Your stuff was always better than mine when you actually finished it; I just took the time to make mine worth looking at."

"A prodigy," remarked Oliver, glancing back to whomever Davies was behind the easel. "Looks like you're out of a job, Roger."

Ginny craned her neck, trying to see what Roger Davies looked like now, but it was impossible to see him.

"Well," Oliver said, moving back toward the center of the room, "this is actually all the people in the class, so we might as well get started. If you want, you can tell your friends about it, but if we like it this size, maybe we'll just leave well enough alone, huh?"

"Not very professional, is he?" whispered Ginny to Hermione.

"I'd say not very mercenary," the brunette replied rather shortly.

"Well," Oliver was saying, "why don't you all just pick an easel that you like?"

Ginny half-followed Hermione, not wanting to be far away from her, until Oliver called her name. "Ginny," he said, "I think you should probably separate from Hermione. Each of you should have your own space to be creative for a while. Choose a space you like that isn't connected to someone else's area, all right?"

Ginny glared at Hermione, who offered her an apologetic look in return, and wandered to another part of the room, settling at a random easel with a canvas stretched across it. A splotch of blue paint stretched across the floor under her feet, mingling at the edges with other spots of red and yellow. The canvas almost glowed in its pure whiteness in front of her.

"Okay, all," Oliver said, leaning lightly on his own easel in the center of the room, "I guess we can get to work."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Ginny looked around for paintbrushes but could see none in the classroom, but no one else seemed concerned about this. She returned her attention to Oliver, tall and relaxed in the center of the circle of easels.

"Well, as you seem to have noticed, Ginny," he began, "and as you two might have suspected, we aren't going to use any paintbrushes in this classroom. In fact, I don't even have any in the building. I rarely use them in my own work anyway, either. They're just a huge inconvenience when you have what we have. What do you guys think we all have in common in this group?"

"Too much spare time," muttered Ginny.

"Sarcastic senses of humor," whispered Hermione, clearly in response to her friend's rude suggestion.

"Magic," said Roger Davies simply, finally peering out from behind his easel. Over the years since Hogwarts, he had at least not lost his hair. His teeth were a different story, which was unusual for wizards. "We're all wizards- or witches," he added, looking over at Hermione and Ginny and winking.

"Roger's right," Oliver said simply, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans and crossing his legs as he leaned against his easel again. "We've all got something special about us that Muggles couldn't even dream of. We're all gifted. We've got a way of creating art that no one in the so-called 'normal world' has got. So we're going to use it. I want each of you to picture a painting on the canvas in front of you. It doesn't matter what style it's in or anything like that. Just picture it. I'd like you to think seriously about it, but whatever kind of seriousness you want is fine. Do you have a favorite porn film you want to immortalize in a painting? I don't care! We're all adults here, we don't need a censor on our creativity. I'm going to do all these exercises with you, so don't feel like I'm going to be wandering around while you think, making sure you're concentrating hard enough and waving my hands in front of your faces. Think about what you want, and close your eyes and imagine it being painted on your canvas by the hand of someone who knows how to paint."

There was a moment of silence. Ginny looked over at Hermione, who was still blushing from the porn comment, then back to Oliver, who had his eyes closed. "What are you waiting for?" he asked, not opening his eyes but quirking his lips a little. "Think of it. If you feel something, channel it in your thoughts onto the canvas with your painting."

Ginny glanced at Roger, who was twitching a little nervously with his eyes screwed tightly shut, then closed her own eyes and tried to think of a painting. Her mind drifted gently until it came to rest on a sandy dune field she had seen while in Egypt. All that was there was the yellow-brown sand and the blue sky. The colors were pure, thick, and vibrant. The heat fell from the sun and rose again from the sand in a continuous, shimmering loop. There were no people in Ginny's mind's eye, just space and freedom and…

Before Ginny could catch up to her thoughts, the picture in her mind started to change. It became exaggerated to just the sky and a thin strip of yellow-brown at the bottom, impossible to divine by anyone not privy to the initial scene. The sun disappeared in lieu of a flock of white birds, circling each other in perfect coordination, and the entire image began to blend into itself. Eventually it was just a blur of blue surrounding a blur of white with a diagonal slash of yellow-brown at the base. Ginny's brain felt warm and heavy in her head and without having to think about it or even really try, she put that warm heaviness into the picture and it seemed to glow brighter. The colors became even more vivid, the birds almost seemed to move on their own within their white blur, and the warmth poured off the canvas and into Ginny. What did everything mean?

"Open your eyes."

Oliver's voice cut into her experience and Ginny threw her eyelids open with the kind of force that was necessary only on the most exhausting of mornings when waking up from an immersive dream. And indeed that was a little how she felt. She was breathing a little more heavily than usual and she glanced around at Hermione to see how her friend had reacted to her thought experience. Hermione looked unruffled and actually looked calmer than she had after the porn imagery. Ginny sighed and turned back to look at her empty canvas, trying to imagine her painting again.

She didn't have to.

With a sharp intake of breath, Ginny stared at her canvas, splattered with a less breathtaking but still fairly exact representation of her Egyptian landscape. It was the initial image she had come up with, sky and sand still perfectly imagined, sun burning realistically in the impermeably blue sky. What the hell had happened.

"Now I'm sure at least one of you is really stunned at what just happened," Oliver said, smiling around at the three of them. "Do any of you want to show us your canvases before I tell you what's going on?"

Ginny looked uneasily again at Hermione, but her friend's old school tendencies had taken over and she was already busying about turning her easel to show the others. Ginny glanced at Roger, who looked like he wasn't going to share anything with the class in the near future; she suspected he had taken Oliver's advice and imagined some kind of graphic sex act and accidentally splashed it on his canvas.

"Here's what I imagined," Hermione said breathlessly. "I think it turned out rather nicely. I've taken painting classes before and read up on the theory of magical art, so I understand pretty well what's taking place when the meditative painting exercise. I thought of my boyfriend the way he looked before I went to work this morning."

Ginny cringed, not really wanting to see her brother naked or anything like that but also not urgent to disrupt any kind of class procedure she might not know about, but she should have expected that any painting Hermione made would be appropriate for all audiences. It was almost sepia-toned and didn't seem to have much in the way of color, save Ron's bright red hair tousled over his head. His body was a blurry mess of striped pajamas and whether he was in a bed or a chair was completely unclear. Hermione's painting wasn't nearly as exact as Ginny's, but Ron's face was obviously what Hermione had concentrated on; it was perfect in every detail. He had a few crow's feet around his eye, the smoothed-out wrinkles of his forehead were relaxed in sleep, his mouth hung open and Ginny could almost hear his snoring as she remembered it growing up. His nose was exactly right. Ginny felt as though she was looking at a photograph of her older brother's face.

"Nice, Hermione," Oliver said. "It looks like you really wanted the face perfect and you make the viewer feel that too. Awesome."

Hermione beamed at the praise and returned her easel to its original position, thanking Oliver as she did so.

"Anyone else?" Oliver asked, looking between Roger and Ginny. "Oh, come on, we'll all have to put ourselves and our work on display at some point so you might as well do it now. I'm going to show you what I did last, so don't feel like I'm making you do anything I won't do myself."

"Fine," Roger snapped, and pulling out his wand, he levitated and rotated his easel. "Here's my painting."

Ginny gazed blankly at the canvas, which was just a mess of color. Red, green, yellow, blue, orange, purple, brown; they all streaked across the canvas in straight lines but in no particular order. Oliver smirked.

"I'm guessing you didn't like your initial thought," he remarked, and Roger turned a little red as he returned his canvas to the easel. "I like it, though. It's pretty crazy how even a giant cover-up can be considered art. But don't go to the Louvre and paint over the Mona Lisa, all right? I'm not encouraging that."

There was a moment of polite laughter, and then three pairs of eyes turned to Ginny. "Ready, Ginny?" asked Oliver. "Since it's your first time doing this, from what I gather, I'm pretty stoked to see what you came up with. I'm guessing you're pretty confused by all this, too."

"Yeah," Ginny said, "I guess I'm a little confused, but I did come up with something." She struggled with her easel for a moment before sighing and doing what Roger had done. As she turned her canvas toward the group, Oliver frowned and moved from his easel toward her picture. Hermione gasped and clapped her hands excitedly, exclaiming "Oh, Ginny, that's wonderful!" Roger grinned at the canvas, taking in the painting. Ginny blushed; she hadn't thought it was particularly good, although it was almost impossibly good for someone who had no artistic talent whatsoever.

"Ginny," Oliver said slowly, and suddenly she forgot Roger's and Hermione's reactions, "have you done this before and just didn't tell me?"

"No… At least, not that I know of," Ginny said, glancing at Hermione, who shook her head in a somehow supportive way. "This is my first time doing any painting since I was a kid doing paint-by-numbers and I have legitimately no artistic talent whatsoever, so…"

"Okay, okay," Oliver said, peering at her canvas, his face just inches away. Ginny toyed with the idea of "accidentally" flicking the painting and hitting him in the nose, but she decided it probably wouldn't be a smart idea to make an enemy out of someone who she sort-of knew from school and now had as a teacher in an art class that seemed to potentially be either a lot of fun or a lot of misery. So instead she held her wand and her painting steady while Oliver stared at the canvas. "This is Egypt," he said finally, straightening again and looking at Ginny. It wasn't a question; he knew it was Egypt somehow.

"Yes," Ginny replied, somehow unsettled by his total surety about her admittedly somewhat ambiguous painting. "I was just thinking, I guess, about a trip I took there last year… I don't know, the whole process seems sort of foggy right now. I think the painting kind of started doing itself after a while, I don't remember what I was doing."

"Yeah, I know," Oliver said, looking again at her canvas. "This is excellent, Ginny. You're a natural."

"Oh," Ginny blurted, seriously taken aback.

"I'm just trying to read your painting a little bit," Oliver said reassuringly. "You could easily see in Hermione's why she had chosen her boyfriend; she clearly loves him a lot. Roger's was a censor for his own thoughts. I'm no shrink, but I guess he's got some issues to handle. I'm just trying to learn from your painting what you loved about Egypt so much that you painted it."

"I guess it was the heat or the colors," Ginny said. "I remember them both being seriously important in the process somehow. The heat was like ... floating around, between the ground and the sun. The sun was important. I don't know."

Oliver grinned at her. "I think I know. Ginny, you're not as hard to see through as you want to be."

Ginny frowned. "Um, excuse me?"

"Sorry, Ginny," Oliver said, "but it seems pretty obvious to me what you really miss about Egypt. You miss the freedom. It's clear to anyone looking at it- the sky is much, much larger than the land. The land slopes, leading toward the air. The sun looks a little out of place. You wanted a clear sky, or maybe another indication of independence, but you got nervous. You probably didn't even realize it. This is a very natural painting. I love it. I'm looking forward to painting with you and seeing what you come up with. All of you did well," he added, backing up and addressing the whole classroom again. "Now we're going to get to work."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ginny frowned as she went to get another canvas from a cabinet in a corner of the room. How had Oliver been able to figure out her painting so easily when she didn't even know quite what was going on? It was a blue sky and sand, for God's sake. It could easily have just meant that she wanted to go to the beach. What the hell did he even know about her life? Ginny felt much less enthusiastic about the whole painting process now that she knew there wouldn't be any kind of mystery to her work.

"Ginny," whispered Hermione from behind her, making Ginny jump, "what on earth was that about?"

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, absentmindedly flipping through canvases as if there would be a difference between them- to her, anyway. She had no doubt that Oliver could probably detect all kinds of variation between them.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Hermione replied somewhat irritably. "I want to know what is already going on between you and Oliver. How on earth do you manage to cause disturbances wherever you go?"

"I didn't think anything was 'going on,'" Ginny said, emphasizing her statement with sardonic air quotes. "I guess he's just really good at figuring things out. Whatever, it doesn't really matter that much."

"No, not really," Hermione agreed, "but I can tell when you're mad and lying to pretend you're not because something that doesn't really matter matters to you. Come on, you hate it when people actually know anything about you."

"That's not true," argued Ginny. "You and Harry know a lot about me."

Hermione's mouth twisted in skepticism as she reached over Ginny to get her own canvas. "Harry told me less than a week ago that you wanted to keep your favorite color a secret from him so he wouldn't buy everything in that color from now on."

"That makes sense!" Ginny said, outraged. "You know Harry, he's so-"

"Thoughtful," Hermione interjected. "Yes, I know. He tries to do things for people that they would like, but you make it really difficult for him."

"This is not a discussion about my relationship," Ginny whispered fiercely, and she grabbed a canvas and walked back to her easel. Wonderful, now she was fuming.

"Is everything okay?" called Oliver to the class as the three of them finished setting up their easels. "Are you all ready to start learning?"

"We're not a kindergarten, for fuck's sake," Ginny snapped before she could even think about it. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. "Sorry," she squeaked from under her fingers.

Oliver looked at her for a second. "I don't really mind if you guys express your opinions in here," he said slowly. "We're all adults. I don't want this to be a dictatorship where I tell you what to think and what to do. But I really would appreciate if you all would have a certain amount of respect for me, as your teacher, and for each other as classmates and peers. If we hang out outside the classroom and you want to really express yourself to me, feel free. I'm not kidding, I want your honest opinions all the time, but outside the classroom would be the place for your uncensored thoughts. I think here should be a place we feel a little more secure that we won't be made fun of or viciously shouted down. Does that make sense to you?"

Ginny nodded rapidly. Hermione said, "Yes," quietly and Roger didn't do anything, he just stood there twirling his wand idly.

"Okay, I'm glad we've figured that out," Oliver said, an easy smile returning to his face. "So, I guess what we're going to do now- well, more what you're going to do- is listen to me give a bit of a lecture on wizard painting history."

"Really?" asked Roger skeptically. "I had imagined this class as being more hands-on, you know."

"I know, Roger, and I promise the vast majority of my talking will be during this class," Oliver said reassuringly. "Now that you guys have had a try at painting like this I want you to understand where it all came from. Does that make sense? I mean," he added, "even if it doesn't make sense, you're pretty much stuck with it, but it would improve student-teacher relations if you all understood that I have a point to the things I do."

Hermione nodded. Ginny tried to maintain a neutral expression since she was pretty sure scowling wouldn't make anything easier for her. Roger just rolled his eyes but remained silent.

"Okay then," Oliver said. "Well, 'wizard painting' as my five-year old nephew calls it, probably had its forerunner in a witch I'm sure you've all heard of- Circe." Hermione nodded intently, but Roger and Ginny chose to keep their knowledge or ignorance to themselves. "Circe used her magic to weave beautiful tapestries which she hung in her house or paraded in the streets. She was very proud of her magic and wasn't ashamed of telling other people. Back then, in ancient Greece, it was okay for people to be open about their magic. It was the time of gods and goddesses, and magic was just one kind of add-on to all that. Circe was the greatest witch of her time, and the gods noticed that. Her tapestries were at least equal to, if not better than, those of the goddesses, and they were enraged with her. They offered her a deal, as she was too powerful to just attempt to destroy, and she agreed to confine herself to one island as long as she could do what she liked there and have everything she needed. The gods agreed, and as you all know, she wreaked havoc there for the rest of her life. But I'm guessing you'd rather know about the actual first wizard painter, right?"

Ginny didn't really care what she heard about. Oliver had a nice voice; it fell, rose, and rolled with his story and made Ginny feel like she was effortlessly floating through the story. She reluctantly stirred herself on the stool at the pause in the story. Hermione raised her hand.

"Go on, Hermione," Oliver laughed. "We're not at Hogwarts anymore, you can just talk. Think of this classroom as a big conversation between the four of us."

"I just wanted to point out that the 'gods' of Circe's time were actually just very powerful wizards, like today's Wizengamot," Hermione said breathlessly, and Ginny frowned at her. Did she have to make everyone aware of the fact that she knew everything? "Their behavior, which appears selfish and silly today, was merely a reflection of the modes of the time."

"Yeah, Hermione, but that makes the story a lot more boring," Oliver replied, and Hermione's face fell slightly. Ginny felt a nasty twinge of satisfaction and pushed it down. She loved Hermione more than she hated her know-it-all tendencies. "I like to think of it all in terms of those myths that we all grew up on about Zeus and Hera, Aphrodite, Hermes, Apollo…"

"Wouldn't it be better to just deal with the facts since we're in a class?" Roger asked irritably. Oliver just frowned at him, and he sighed and returned his gaze to his own smeared canvas.

"Well, if we're ready to continue, I can stick to the facts from now on," Oliver said, winking at Hermione. "After Circe, witches and wizards kept making art and using their magic creatively for thousands of years, but they didn't really tap into their human emotion until one very famous wizard that I'm absolutely certain you've all heard of: Michelangelo."

Hermione almost fell out of her chair. The history of famous wizards in the art world wasn't often taught in classes, more by wizard parents, so Ginny had known about Michelangelo but she guessed Hermione hadn't. She certainly seemed surprised enough, and started to raise her hand again before controlling herself and speaking without waiting for permission.

"Michelangelo was a wizard?" she squeaked. "He can't have been a wizard, he was an artist."

"Really?" Oliver asked, a look of amusement crossing his face. "So you think it's not possible to be both, then?"

Hermione frowned. "Well, no, of course not. I mean, we're all here, right?"

"I don't think any of us are artists yet," Oliver said seriously. "We have a long way to go but maybe before this class is over we'll all be able to understand a little bit what Michelangelo went through as both a person of magic and a person of absurd creativity."

"So what do you think David was really meant to represent, then?" asked Roger.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I'm sure even your heathen ears have heard the story of David and Goliath as made famous by the Bible, Roger," he said. "I think David is meant to represent that figure of David as he stands for the underdog, as it were. I think David might have represented to Michelangelo the beauty of magic against the strength of persecution against those with magical powers that had developed since the days of Circe on her island. Do you guys have any ideas about what kind of thoughts Michelangelo might have had while sculpting his famous David?"

"Homosexual ones?" Ginny whispered appreciatively, remembering the finely sculpted contours of David's physique. Hermione and Roger laughed, but Oliver seemed to take her quip seriously.

"It was thought, and probably still is in some circles, that Michelangelo was homosexual," he said thoughtfully. "I think a lot of his temper, social incompatibility, and disagreements with various religious figures and patrons can be explained by the fact that a part of him didn't feel welcome or even wanted by these same people who clamored for his work."

"Were any of his paintings or sculptures given to wizards?" asked Roger.

"There is a kind of legend about a painting done by Michelangelo and given to a wizarding family that had a magical theme to it," Oliver said. "Unfortunately, that family was a small offset of the Medicis called the Malfoys, so no one has ever seen it. Nor will they ever, most likely."

Hermione and Ginny rolled their eyes at each other. Of course it was the Malfoys who had the famous painting. It was probably locked up in a vault being forgotten by the people who owned it and remembered and reverenced by anyone denied the opportunity to see it. Oliver had looked so wistful when speaking of the painting that sympathetic Hermione's eyes had become glossy with secondhand emotion.

"Anyway, I don't want to bore you with one topic for too long," Oliver continued, snapping out of his momentary reverie and glancing again around the classroom. "Let's keep moving."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"The next really famous wizarding painter was, as you've probably guessed, Jasper Johns. Other famous painters in between were Muggles of great skill, and most wizarding painters during that long drought were either not very good or not very famous. But I know you've all heard of Jasper Johns and seen his work."

There was an awkward pause; even Hermione looked uncertainly toward Ginny, who had never even heard the name Jasper Johns. She shrugged at her friend and looked at Roger, who also looked lost.

"None of you know Jasper?" asked Oliver, observing the mental chaos with a face of slight despair. "Come on, Hermione, not even you?"

Hermione shook her head, brows drawn to the center of her forehead. "I haven't even heard the name," she said, "which is saying something. I have a very extensive knowledge base."

"I think anyone in school with you knows that," Roger muttered, rolling his eyes. Ginny thought about jumping off her stool and giving him a piece of her mind, but then she realized she felt the same way about Hermione and stayed on her seat. Hermione had no reaction; either she hadn't heard or she was pretending she hadn't heard.

"Well, that's your homework, which I hate to give, by the way," Oliver said. "I want every single one of you to bring in your favorite Jasper Johns painting to class on Thursday. Well, I guess what I really want you to do is get a favorite Jasper Johns painting and then bring it in. That means you have to learn something about him in the next three days, and see enough of his paintings to have a favorite. That's at least four. If any of you have computers, just do it at home; if not, go to a library and check out a book about him, there's plenty to be found."

"Would a google search be appropriate?" asked Ginny.

"At least google his paintings and read his wikipedia page," Oliver replied, a rather saucy edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for expert-level knowledge, just a general idea of who he is and what he did. But I'm about to tell you more about him so really I guess I'm just cheating myself in the end. Jasper Johns followed Picasso, who was, surprisingly, not a wizard. He was a magician with his paint, no one's arguing with that, but he was one hundred percent Muggle. However, he was closely associated with a few witches in his time; they served as Muse types for him and their perspectives partially inspired his painting style. But Jasper Johns followed Picasso in complete confusion only. If you had ever seen one of his paintings, you'd know exactly what I'm talking about. He uses a lot of color and not a lot of realism. Roger's painting actually looks like an incredibly bad Jasper Johns imitation attempt- but don't worry, Roger, I'm sure if you were actually trying to imitate Jasper Johns, you would have done much better. By the way," Oliver interrupted himself, "do you know how people sometimes have names where you have to say the first and the last ones together? Jasper Johns is one of those people. You'll learn as you get to know more about him and use his name more and more often. Anyway, he was inspired a lot by his magic, but more so by the darker side of those powers. He was operating during some of Voldemort's reign, for lack of a better word, which explains some of his more horrifying paintings. He saw a lot of the carnage, while not being directly involved, and he put that down on canvas. A lot of our creative war record comes from Jasper Johns."

There was a pause. "If that's so," Hermione said timidly, "why have none of us even heard of him? I mean, I'm not questioning his artistic talent, since I have no idea what his paintings look like, but I guess my question is more about why we don't know who he is if he's so critical to the war record."

Oliver grinned at Hermione. "You've accidentally stumbled onto one of my biggest pet peeves, Hermione," he said. "I think that the Ministry of Magic was far too keen on reassuring people that Jasper Johns, one of the most famous artists of the twentieth century, was nothing but that- a great artist. They released every single one of his paintings to museums anonymously, although Jasper Johns left them to the Ministry in order to help ease children into education about Voldemort's time in power. Sure his paintings were dramatic and sometimes scary, but it's certainly easier for kids to look at an abstract painting than to hear horrible stories about how their aunt or grandfather was horrifically tortured and murdered by Voldemort and his followers. Jasper Johns desperately wanted to be a wizarding hero, and the Ministry took that away from him. They'd rather sweep everything under the rug and hide everything they could from the Muggles. And that, Hermione, is why you don't know who Jasper Johns is, or why he's incredibly famous in a certain section of the wizarding community."

There was a silence. Ginny felt slightly cheated that she hadn't known who Jasper Johns was, but she was sure she'd get over it. In fact, now that Oliver was no longer talking, Ginny glanced up at the clock. She was surprised to find it was already almost nine thirty; she felt that the last hour and a half had been a kind of a fugue. She felt almost like a real artist, letting time slip by in the pursuit of creativity and history.

She needed to snap out of it.

Oliver glanced at the clock as well. "All right, guys, it's about time to wrap up for tonight, which I'm sure you're glad about. I promise I won't talk that much during any other lesson, and I also promise we'll be doing painting almost exclusively from now on, okay? So you can all come back if you like, it won't be this boring again. So I'll hopefully see you on Thursday!"

Ginny looked at Hermione, who looked at Roger, who had grabbed his canvas and was heading toward a cabinet. The women followed his lead somewhat uncertainly, occasionally glancing toward Oliver, who was unhelpfully pondering his own canvas.

As Ginny put her finished painting away in the cabinet, just as Hermione had buttoned the first button on her coat and Roger had pushed through the door and toward the stairs, she stopped. "Oliver," she said, "you never showed us your canvas." She turned around to face her art teacher, who looked up at her from his contemplation, eyes still blank.

"Oh, right, I didn't," he said. "I actually just forgot, which I know you probably don't believe, but I'm being honest. Do you," he added, a strange kind of shyness or timidity in his voice, "do you want to see it now?"

Ginny nodded. Hermione had stopped doing up her coat at the third button and was standing, slightly pink-cheeked and a little breathless, both with suspense and suspended activity. Oliver smiled at both of them and turned his easel around slowly.

Ginny stared. "What the hell."

It was a painting of her. Her hair was perfectly rendered in her wannabe artistic ponytail, her eyes literally sparkled, and her mouth was quirked like it always was when she was concentrating, like when she was putting on her makeup in the morning or when she was finishing up another row of stitches when she felt elderly and wanted to do knitting. Her skin and freckles seemed to have been lifted directly from a photograph, they were so perfectly accurate. The background was blurred, and she could only see herself up to her shoulders, which were painted bare and freckled as they were beneath her old t-shirt. She looked incredible, not because she was so stunningly beautiful in the painting, but because she had been rendered so joyfully and in such immaculate detail.

Ginny could feel Hermione's eyes on her and she tore her gaze from the painting to look at her friend. Hermione's eyes were round as saucers and Ginny could practically see her thoughts.

As she turned around again, Ginny could see that Oliver too was looking at her, but he seemed nervous and expectant, as though she were going to pronounce judgment on his painting. She met his gaze and sighed. "Maybe you could tell me why on earth you decided to paint me out of the billions of things you've seen in your life," she said.

"You were in front of me," Oliver replied simply. "I consider myself an artist, Ginny, and I see paintings or drawings or sculptures in everything around me. Today it was you, another day it could be Roger, and another day it could be the canvas in front of me itself."

"Yeah, I get it, 'don't be flattered,'" Ginny said sarcastically, squinting at the painting. "Still it's a really good likeness for someone who was just 'looking for art.'"

"Do you want it?" asked Oliver. "You could give it to your girlfriend for Valentine's Day," he added, winking at Hermione.

Ginny whirled around to face Oliver as Hermione's face turned red. "Oh, we're not… That is we're… I have a boyfriend," she finished lamely. "Hermione's practically married."

"Yes, and not to Ginny," added Hermione hastily. "No offense," she said, shooting Ginny a glance.

"None taken," Ginny said.

"Oh," Oliver said, seemingly unabashed by his mistake. "Well I'm willing to donate it as a boyfriend gift too, although that's not quite as cool. I won't lie to you."

Ginny just stared at him and shook her head. "You're something else," she said after a moment. "Yeah, I guess I don't really want some guy's painting of me to give to my boyfriend for Valentine's Day. But it is really good so maybe you could hang it in your house or sell it to a magazine or something. Profit off of it somehow, it's too nice to leave alone."

"Yes, Ginny, I really want a painting that I did myself of a girl in my art class in my house," Oliver replied wryly. "I'll figure something out, I guess. Don't worry yourself about it."

"I wasn't planning on it," Ginny said, rolling her eyes as she wound her scarf around her neck.

There was a moment of bustling as Oliver put away his canvas and Hermione and Ginny finished putting on their outerwear. Just as Hermione was turning at the door to say good-bye to Oliver, he addressed both of them.

"Do you ladies want to go out and get a drink?" he asked, looking between Hermione and Ginny as he grabbed his own coat. "It's been a while since we were at school together and I was just curious about what you've all been up to."

Hermione looked to Ginny, who paused for a moment and then shook her head. "Sorry, Oliver," she said. "I told Harry I'd be home tonight. Maybe on Thursday, though, all right? You're not the only curious one," she added, throwing him a smile. Hermione too smiled and waved a little as the two exited the room.

"Did you and Harry have plans for tonight?" Hermione asked, her eyes slightly widened. "You'd never turn down time out of the house just to go home at nine thirty."

"I made him eat pizza for dinner again, Hermione," Ginny replied as they exited the building. "I owe it to him to be home on time."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Ginny waved goodbye to Hermione from her porch, then sighed and turned to the front door. She put her key in the lock and thought about turning around and going back to Hermione, Oliver, and the prospect of a night out catching up with friends. Well, she considered as she turned her key, more like a friend and someone she knew. She didn't really consider Oliver a friend. In fact, he seemed somewhat creepy to her after the painting incident.

She shut the front door behind her and lazily hung her coat over the banister. Unwinding her scarf, she called for her boyfriend. Harry appeared at the top of the staircase and smiled down at her. "I was sure you would want to go out with Hermione after a terrible evening of painting," he said.

"The painting wasn't so terrible," she replied, climbing the stairs slowly. "Oliver Wood was our teacher, isn't that weird?"

"Wow, he's not playing Quidditch now?" Harry asked, surprise in his voice. "He was such a fanatic in school."

"I guess everyone has changed since then," Ginny said, reaching Harry and the top of the stairs.

He smiled at her and took her in his arms. "Good thing we haven't," he said, love in his voice. "I still love you just as much as I did in school."

Ginny smiled, remembering their early days at Hogwarts. "We were so young," she said, then winced, thinking of how like her mother she sounded.

"It's crazy that we've been together for four years," Harry murmured, his head resting on her shoulder and his lips moving against her neck. "I've spent a lot of my life with you, Ginny."

"I know," Ginny said, stroking her boyfriend's hair. "It's been a nice time."

Harry pulled back until he was looking at her and smiled, a glint of wickedness in his eyes. "Just nice, hmm?" he teased, pulling her against him tightly.

"Well," she said slowly, rolling her eyes and trailing her fingers from his shoulders down his chest, "I guess 'nice' might be a little weak…"

"Since you're home and all," Harry said, leading a giggling Ginny toward their bedroom, "let's see just how nice things can be between us tonight."

Ginny let all the breath out of her lungs at once. "Harry, how could I ever leave you?"

"That's exactly the kind of thing a man wants to hear after displaying his sexual prowess in the bedroom," Harry replied, rolling off of his girlfriend. "How you're thinking of leaving me."

Ginny rolled her eyes lazily; she felt exhausted all through her bones. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I know," Harry said, settling on his side and looking into Ginny's eyes. "I never want you to leave me. I love you so much, Ginny."

"Of course you say that after that… experience," she said. "How could you think any differently, I mean, that was the hardest you've-"

"I mean it," Harry said in a low voice, cutting across her gently. "I've meant it ever since we were at school. I knew you were right for me almost from the moment we started dating. I don't know if it was the surrounding circumstances-"

"Like a giant war where either of us could have died any day and an evil wizard after our lives?" Ginny asked sarcastically.

"Yes, those," Harry replied, smiling but still serious in tone. "But in any case I made my decision quickly. I just wish you'd let me marry you."

"Let's not talk about this now, Harry," Ginny said sleepily. "I'm tired and I feel good and I want to go to sleep with you, and maybe later wake up and make out and go for round two with you, but I don't really have the energy to talk to you about this right now."

"Damn," Harry said, moving closer to Ginny and wrapping his arms around her. "I was hoping you'd be tired enough to just say yes."

"I think you know by now that I'm not really that type of girl," Ginny sighed, resting her forehead against her boyfriend's chest and tangling her legs with his. "I'm only twenty-one, I don't want to be married yet. Maybe never at all."

"I know," Harry said, a sleepy edge creeping into his voice. "I just thought I'd ask again. I really want to be married to you, Ginny, that's all."

"I know," Ginny said, "but I don't think I'm going to feel differently about it in the morning."

There was a silence, and Ginny worried maybe she had hurt Harry's feelings. True, she wasn't exactly foaming at the mouth to get married, but she hadn't wanted to offend her boyfriend. She waited for a moment for him to speak, then tentatively said his name, looking up to see if he looked angry.

She was answered by a light snore. Harry had already fallen asleep.

"Thank goodness it's my day off," Ginny murmured, and then followed her boyfriend into dreamland.

Ginny woke up abruptly three hours later, slightly sweaty and short of breath. Harry had at some point moved in his sleep so she was resting almost sideways over his chest, and her sudden start into consciousness didn't seem to have disturbed his slumber. She got up slowly, still trying not to wake Harry up, and tiptoed to the bathroom, closing the door before turning on the light.

She stared at her face in the mirror uneasily, wondering where that dream had come from. She had started taking dreams fairly seriously at age fourteen, when Harry had had that dream about her father that had ended up saving Arthur Weasley's life. Whenever she had a dream that she could remember, she either wrote it down or thought it through until she thought she knew what it meant. But how was she even supposed to think about this one without feeling uncomfortable and even guilty?

She had dreamed about the painting Oliver had done. It had come to life, this painting of her, and stepped from the canvas, utterly naked and gleaming with oil paint. Her painting-self had looked around the art classroom- which was where she had appeared in the dream- and out of seemingly nowhere, but probably off another canvas, stepped Oliver.

But it wasn't exactly Oliver. He looked like she did, shimmering in the fluorescent lighting as if paint covered his skin. Ginny had realized that Oliver was also supposed to represent a painting, although one hadn't been done of him in the class. And after his image of her had emerged, she felt less than enthusiastic about attempting something so creepy as painting someone she hardly knew. However, the dream-projection of him was worth looking at; his body, clothed only in the sheen of the paint, was proportional and fit, and he still had the twinkle in his eye that had been present throughout his lecture earlier. He beamed a smile at the painting-Ginny, who returned it warmly and joined hands with the oil Oliver. Together they started to dance in the middle of the classroom, moving faster and faster until they whirled into one spinning tornado of colors. Their painted limbs and torsos had run and blurred together into one abstract Van Gogh-ish twister and they splattered all over the classroom walls and floor, joining the splotches that were already there. What remained of their bodies then fell in a puddle in the center of the room, congealing and rippling smaller and smaller until it remained still, neither figure distinguishable in the mess.

Ginny shook herself in reality, pale in the bathroom mirror with no remnant on her skin of the sheen from her dream. She didn't want to tell Harry. She didn't know what the dream meant at all, and she didn't feel like he'd appreciate it. Harry always got a bit funny when she mentioned other men appearing in her dreams. Not funny enough to annoy or stifle her at all, but she didn't want to hurt or worry him over something from her subconscious. It was probably just the remembrance of the class and the fact that she and Hermione had made plans for Thursday to get drinks with an old friend.

She sighed happily, relaxing into a sudden understanding- or, at least, interpretation. She was probably just subconsciously thinking about bonding again with an old schoolmate in combination with the whole art class theme of the evening. The painting aspect probably came from her utter surprise at actually enjoying the class.

"It's so helpful to understand dreams," Ginny whispered to herself, turning out the bathroom light and returning clumsily to the bedroom. "Although I don't understand why we were naked."

It didn't seem very important to her anymore as she got into bed, draped again over Harry's chest and, with a sigh, fell back asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

By the time Ginny woke up the next morning, she had forgotten her dream and Harry had left for work. There was a note on the side table telling her goodbye and he loved her and sorry for not being able to tell her he was leaving but an emergency came up and he loved her again, but that note was the only remnant of her boyfriend remaining in the house. Ginny had the whole day to herself.

Or at least part of it. The clock read 11:28 AM, so Ginny had overslept far beyond when she had planned on waking up. She sighed and rolled over, forcing herself to keep her eyes open as she stumbled out of bed and toward the kitchen. The sun shining through unshaded windows didn't help the waking-up process much; it mostly just made her feel more grouchy than before. She sped up her coffeemaker with a spell and sat at the table sipping the hot brew. She and Harry had updated Grimmauld Place with pretty much any of the Muggle extras they could buy; the coffeemaker was just one example of the non-magical technology that filled the house. Harry had felt uncomfortable fairly quickly in a house where he couldn't call anyone on the telephone, so he'd added a telephone and a line, an internet connection and a computer, and even cable television. Ginny had never seen Muggle television before, and she'd quickly been fascinated by everything she saw. Muggles were hilarious; they seemed to have no idea that their "reality" television shows were nothing like reality. When she'd brought this up to Harry, though, he had just laughed and laughed for longer than she'd ever seen him laugh before, so she just let her questions rest and enjoyed the shows after that.

As she sat thinking purposelessly about TV, the telephone started ringing. She got up and looked at the caller ID- something that she considered pretty close to magic on the Muggles' part; she wasn't sure how the phone could tell who was calling but she loved it- and saw that it was Fleur. While Fleur and Ginny were never going to be best friends, they had gained a kind of mutual respect through the war and a kind of mutual affection through Fleur's daughter and Ginny's goddaughter, Victoire. Both women thought Victoire was perfect, and they bonded a little bit over that.

"Hello?" Ginny said, remembering to pick up and answer the phone in the right order for once. She still wasn't quite used to all this Muggle stuff, as she'd only moved in with Harry two months ago, but she was getting the hang of it.

"'Ello, Ginny," Fleur said, her light accent sounding more pretty than affected to Ginny now. "'Ow are you today?"

"Oh, you know, just woke up, so can't complain," Ginny joked. "And you, Fleur, how are you? How's Bill and Victoire?"

"Oh, Beel is doing well, although he is away right now," Fleur replied. "Victoire and I are a leetle sad without Beel, but we are managing. Actually, Ginny, that is what is was calling about."

"About… about being sad without Bill?" asked Ginny, puzzled. Not that she minded listening to Fleur unload about her problems, but Ginny was one of the least sympathetic people Fleur knew. "I mean, Fleur, I'm really sorry about Bill, I miss him too, but-"

"No, no, Ginny," Fleur interrupted, laughing slightly. "I was wondering eef maybe you would watch leetle Victoire for a few hours thees afternoon. I am going out to shop for a leetle while with my seester, Gabrielle. She ees een town for the week."

"Oh," Ginny said. "Oh, right, of course. Yeah, sure, Fleur. I don't have to work today, and Harry isn't around so the house is empty except for me. When were you thinking of bringing her over?"

"Gabrielle and I weel be meeting at two, and then I weel come pick Victoire up at five so we can get deener togezzer," Fleur explained. "Eet weel be a ladies' day."

Ginny noticed that she had been left out of the "ladies' day" proceedings for the most part, but she wasn't terribly bothered by it as it sounded like something she wouldn't like anyway. "Okay, I'll be ready."

"Thank you, Ginny," Fleur said. "I really appreciate it. See you at a leetle before two!"

"No problem," Ginny replied. "Bye, Fleur."

After Ginny and Victoire had had a wildly affectionate greeting, the question was raised of what to do. Ginny found that she didn't really mind one way or the other; Victoire was so perfectly adorable, with her strawberry-blonde hair and half-Veela childish beauty, that anything they did together would be enjoyable. Her attitude, although occasionally petulant, was generally good-humored, as was the trend among Veela children.

"Shall we have a pillow fight, Vicky?" Ginny asked; she was only allowed to call Victoire "Vicky" when her mother was out of earshot, and she took full advantage of every opportunity.

"Is Uncle Harry here?" asked Victoire, her diction absent of many toddler mispronunciations but still possessing the charm of her age. "He's loads of fun, Auntie Ginny."

"No, he's not here today," Ginny replied, "but we can still have lots of girl time together, right? Auntie Ginny is at least a little entertaining, hmm?"

Victoire giggled. "Yes," she said, "you are. Let's go have a pillow fight! And after can we do makeup?"

Ginny sighed. Fleur's influence on the little girl was never more perceptible than when discussing any type of beauty products or routines. "Of course, Victoire," she said. "But whoever wins the pillow fight gets to do the makeup first!"

Victoire's laughter followed her down the hall as the two raced toward Ginny and Harry's room. Thankfully, Ginny had had the foresight to change the sheets after last night's somewhat messy escapades, and the two were soon laughing and rolling around, trading pillow blows and dancing around the room out of the other's reach. They continued this for a surprisingly long time; Victoire never tired, and Ginny was eager to engage her for as long as she could, knowing that Victoire would be most temperamental if she were allowed to be bored.

Just as Victoire climbed on top of Ginny, ready to announce her victory with a resounding blow to her godmother's head, the bedroom door opened and Harry appeared. Ginny was somewhat surprised; a glance at the clock told her it was only just past 3:00 and Harry was rarely home before five. However, she was pleased to see Victoire's and Harry's faces light up in almost mirrored grins.

"Uncle Harry!" shouted Victoire, not moving from her strategically advantageous position atop Ginny's stomach but reaching her arms out toward her uncle eagerly. "Come be on my team! I'm going to win, Auntie Ginny is beat."

Harry grinned at his niece, putting down his briefcase at the door and removing his shoes. "I don't know, Victoire," he said. "I think today I like Ginny a little more than you."

"No fair!" screamed Victoire gleefully as Harry swooped down on her and lifted her from the bed, tickling her as Ginny rolled out from underneath them. "No fair!"

"I think it's fair," called Ginny, bopping Victoire gently on the head with her newly-recovered pillow. "Harry and I are a team."

Harry smiled at Ginny from over his squealing niece. "You bet we are," he said softly, expression completely changing for a moment as he looked at his girlfriend. Then, suddenly, he returned to tickling Victoire, who had just caught her breath and began to scream with laughter again. "And little Miss Victoire is the enemy!"

A little bit later, after Victoire had won in a surprising come-from-behind victory, she began to negotiate the makeup deal with Ginny and Harry. "You both lost so you both have to do makeup and I want to do Auntie Ginny's."

"And I want to do Harry's," added Ginny mischievously, winking at her boyfriend, who groaned.

"But that means I do Victoire's and you both know I'm no good at makeup," he said.

"Then it will look silly and we can all laugh," said Victoire slightly impatiently. "Come on, I want to do it before my mummy comes back."

"Does your mummy let you wear makeup?" asked Ginny.

"Well… no, not really," Victoire admitted heavily, looking down at the floor in preemptive disappointment. "But I thought maybe since I was at your house we could maybe do it just one time."

Ginny looked at her boyfriend, who smiled at her. "You're right, Victoire," said Harry. "You're with Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry, so just this once we can do makeup together, all three of us."

Victoire's face lit up and she clapped her hands delightedly. "Yay!" she shouted. "I'm making Auntie Ginny's face first!" And she raced for the vanity table where she knew Ginny kept all her makeup supplies.

Ginny smiled at Harry and took his hand as the two of them made their way out of the tangled bed clothes and over to the vanity table. She felt a surge of warm feelings for her boyfriend and leaned gently against his arm as they walked. "You're cute, Harry," she said.

Before Harry could respond, Victoire made a puking noise from her stool at the vanity. "Yuck," she said, "stop being lovey-dovey."

"Don't want to end up like mum and dad, right, Vicky?" Ginny giggled, releasing Harry's hand and plopping onto the floor in front of her childish makeup artist. "Come on, make me look lovely."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

At about five fifteen, a very made-up Harry opened the door to his sister-in-law, who almost fainted with laughter as she came inside to pick up her daughter. "Ginny told me zat you would not be here, 'Arry, but I am glad zat you are," she laughed, collecting her daughter into her arms. Ginny had taken the precaution of washing Harry's absurd makeup job from her goddaughter's face to save Victoire from her mother's anger.

"Victoire did my makeup, Fleur," Ginny said, smiling up at Victoire in her mother's arms. "You've got a little cosmetician on your hands."

"Ahh, mon petit chou, your aunt looks beautiful," Fleur said, pinching her daughter's cheek and smiling at her. "Per'aps we shall practice at 'ome more often."

Victoire gasped in complete joy, hugging her mother's neck tightly. "Merci beaucoup, mama," she said, laughing. "I will make you look even lovelier!"

Fleur smiled at her daughter, then turned to Harry and Ginny. "Thank you for watching Victoire," she said. "'opefully I weel see you soon, my dears."

"Of course," Harry said, putting his arm around Ginny's shoulders. "Bye Fleur. See you later, Victoire, honey."

Victoire waved good-bye as her mother spun on the porch, and the two disappeared in the blink of an eye as Harry shut the front door with a sigh.

"I love that girl, but she's so exhausting," he said, and Ginny nodded in agreement, looking up at her boyfriend and smiling slightly. "What?" Harry added, wrinkling his brow quizzically.

"I'm just quite proud of your makeup job," Ginny replied, giggling as she pecked his blush-smeared cheek. "You look cute. I love seeing you play with Victoire, you're both so adorable."

Harry smiled down at Ginny, kissing her soundly on the lips. "You're always adorable," he said. "But maybe we should both wash up."

As they made their way to the bathroom, Ginny frowned up at her boyfriend curiously. "Not that I think this is a bad thing," she began, "but why are you home so early?"

"It's kind of funny, actually," Harry said, flipping on the bathroom light and turning on the sink to allow the water to warm up. "There was a small fire in the Auror offices today."

"Is everyone all right?" Ginny asked, splashing water on her face in an attempt to wash away her niece's elaborate makeover job.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, scrubbing at his own face, "everyone's fine, it was really small. But of course, being the Ministry of Paperwork and Unnecessary Investigation, the office is closed down for the rest of the day while the Wizengamot inspector tried to figure out why on earth there was a fire. I'm guessing it was the fact that our office is stuffed to the gills with forms and hot as hell."

"Sounds logical to me," Ginny laughed, turning off the water and rubbing at her face with a towel. "God, I'm worn out. Victoire is so energetic now."

"Tell me about it," Harry replied, slumping against his girlfriend's back and starting to fake-snore in her ear. "She's just too young for us, Ginny," he added between deep circular saw breaths.

"I know," she sighed. "Wanna take a shower and then just eat dinner in bed?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and he kissed her on the cheek. "You are the perfect woman," he said, pulling his tie out and unbuttoning his shirt.

"I know," Ginny replied, grinning at her boyfriend and following his example.

When the two of them were tucked up in bed with ice cream (pretty much the only thing Ginny felt like "making" after her long afternoon with Victoire), Ginny looked up at her boyfriend. "Do you want to watch one of your Muggle films or something?"

"It's up to you, dear," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Thanks for not getting ice cream in my hair," Ginny said, grinning up at him. "And let's watch something; I feel like falling asleep quickly today. I'm tired as hell."

"Agreed," Harry said. "The question is which one?"

"Anything," Ginny said, slumping down on her pillow, and Harry cast a Summoning Spell at a random section of their DVD rack.

He laughed when he saw the cover. "You're in luck tonight, dear. Pride and Prejudice."

Ginny sighed happily and snuggled up to her boyfriend as he sent the disc flying into the DVD player with a flick of his wand and started the film. "Today was so good," she said.

"It was," Harry agreed, wrapping his arm firmly around her shoulders. "You're so good with Victoire, Ginny."

"Well, she's a good kid," Ginny replied. "I doubt I'd be as good with a kid that had two normal parents."

"You would be," Harry said. "I think you'd be a good mum no matter what, Ginny. I mean, look at your mum. She managed to raise all seven of you guys and you turned out fine."

Ginny was silent for a moment. Within the past month, Harry had mentioned parenting, marriage, and children about a hundred times more often than usual. She wasn't really sure what he was trying to hint at; she'd been clear just as many times that she wasn't ready for marriage or kids yet and that she would let him know when she was. Or, at least, he'd be able to tell. "I don't know," Ginny said dismissively. "Mum had way more talent with kids than I have, and we didn't come out too well, honestly."

"I think you're the best," Harry murmured, kissing her head, and Ginny sighed. There was no winning when he did his cute-puppy voice, as she called it. She couldn't resist smiling up at him, and for a few minutes there was comfortable silence between them as the Bennett sisters chattered on the screen.

"So," Harry began after a moment, "how was that painting class yesterday? And how's Oliver? You and I got so caught up afterwards that I completely forgot to ask." He followed this up with a wink. As if them getting it on was some kind of weird secret. Ginny sighed.

"Painting was surprisingly good," she said. "I really like it. I'm going back on Thursday. Oh, and while I'm thinking of it, Oliver, Hermione and I will be going out to play catch-up after class so I won't be back as early this time."

"Works out," Harry said. "I've got to work later because of the fire. Ministry incompetence doesn't mean I get unaccounted for time off, apparently."

"Aww, poor baby," Ginny teased.

"It's fine," he responded. "So, why did you like painting so much? You've hated everything else Hermione wanted to take you to. You don't even like going to the cinema much."

"Well, I'm actually good at painting, so there," Ginny said. "But seriously, I don't really know why exactly I'm so keen on this class. Oliver teaches with a lot of energy and student involvement, which isn't very typical of the art teachers Hermione tends to favor, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Mmm, always the same Hermione," Harry agreed. "And Oliver, how is he? We've been shamefully out of touch basically since school, so I was pretty surprised when you told me he was teaching a painting class."

"I don't know, we didn't really talk," Ginny said. "Ask me again on Thursday after we catch up a little. Maybe I'll get him so heinously drunk that he tells me the full, tragic history of his fall from Quidditch stardom into impoverished teacher obscurity."

"I'm sure he won't even need to be drunk," Harry said, smiling and kissing the top of Ginny's head. "You're so irresistibly charming in a bar."

"So you say," Ginny replied, suddenly feeling exhausted again. The sugar rush from her ice cream must have run its course, and in the morning she only felt slightly irritated for missing Mr. Darcy's proposal.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: There may be a break in updating after this, I'm rather crammed at the moment. I promise I'll be back soon! :) Thanks for reading!<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

When Ginny went back to work on Wednesday morning, George was strangely quiet. Not "strangely quiet" in the sense that it was strange that he was quiet; Ginny had seen that before. "Strangely quiet" on this particular Wednesday meant "acting strange while being quiet." And "strange" for George was different from "strange" for everyone else. Although he wouldn't talk to Ginny, he kept winking at her from across the shop or from the top of the ladders. He would occasionally laugh, as if he couldn't control it, and like a girl giggling in a test he would stifle it as quickly as he could.

After five absolutely irritating minutes, Ginny snapped. She spun around at the counter, where she was working, to face George up on the second floor, where he was snickering. "What is so funny, George?" she practically shouted, scaring a young woman who was shyly browsing the love potions.

"Oh, nothing, Ginevra," responded George, his voice just slightly sing-song. "Hermione just stopped in, that's all."

Ginny slowly turned away from her brother, trying to think of what Hermione could have said to make George so cheerful. She decided on the waiting strategy; although she'd have to endure a bit more sniggering and chortling, eventually George would let something out and she could pry the story out of him.

It didn't take as long as she expected. Within fifteen minutes of giggling and sneaking around as if he were hiding from Ginny, George suddenly appeared next to her behind the counter. "Hermione wanted me to tell you that she couldn't make it on Thursday," he said, barely restrained laughter in his voice. "So it'll just be you and Oliver."

Ginny could barely stand the tone George took on in his last sentence. "For Christ's sake, George, what's so amusing about that?"

"Oh, nothing," George sighed, throwing a jovial arm over his sister's shoulder. "It's just like having the old Ginny back, the Ginny who had a new man every week. I mean," he added, furrowing his brow at her, "before Harry came along, you were exciting! It's like old times again."

Although George laughed again and walked off to stock another shelf or help another customer, Ginny stood still, rooted to place for a moment. She rested her hand against the counter, feeling a little light-headed. Had she gotten boring because of Harry? Granted, she had felt pretty average and routine lately, but really, had it been years? Ginny didn't like to think that her personal interest began and ended with the men she dated, but it might for George. Brothers were like that, even the good ones.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She had found someone she was happy with and that wasn't something to be ashamed of or feel bored with. And yet… she was a little bored. Everything was pretty routine. She hadn't really thought of it as being connected with Harry; in fact she was happy with him. Granted, sometimes, their tastes clashed as Harry came home from work and just wanted to hang out and Ginny wanted to go out, but that wasn't that big of a deal. They made do and compromised, that was what any couple would do.

Right?

Ginny sighed. There was work to be done, and her pondering would have to wait until she went home that night.

When Ginny finally got home - she had gone to George's house for dinner to keep him company since Alicia was away and ended up staying to watch some film George had found - Harry was snoring on the couch, a pile of papers at his feet and a spilled bottle of ink leaking onto his shirt from its perch on the arm of the couch. Ginny smiled fondly, picking up the ink and casting a cleaning charm on his shirtsleeve before gently waking him up.

Bleary-eyed, Harry looked up at her, gradually focusing on her face and smiling sleepily. "Hi, baby," he said, pulling her face down to kiss her. "Sorry I fell asleep. And sorry for my breath."

"It's fine," Ginny said, smiling. "You're a little smelly but that's fine. I probably am too; I had a beer over at George's place while we watched some art house picture that George made fun of."

"Cute." Harry smiled, blinking slowly. He kept blinking for a moment before Ginny took action.

"Come on, Harry, let's go to bed, you big baby," she said, grabbing his hand and yanking until he stood up, wobbling a little before finding a balance on his feet.

"So forceful," Harry murmured, chuckling, his voice slurred with exhaustion. "That's hot."

"Were you drinking?" Ginny asked doubtfully, slinging Harry's arm over her shoulders and leading him up the stairs. "You seem a little unsteady."

"Nope," Harry said, his voice slightly clearer as he took control of his faculties. "Just the post-nap grogginess, you know. I've got to work in the morning and I guess my body knew it."

"Yeah, I've got work too," Ginny replied. "In fact, babe, I wanted to talk to you real quick about that. I didn't think you'd be asleep already though."

"No, I'm awake," Harry said, leaning against the frame of their bedroom door and running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "Lay it on me, darling."

Ginny smiled. Harry really was so cute sometimes. "I just wanted to say I probably won't be around much tomorrow. I've got work all day, and then I'm grabbing dinner with Hermione before we go to painting. After class... we're going for drinks."

Ginny wasn't sure why she left out the fact that it would only be her and Oliver. She guessed it was probably because it wasn't a big deal at all. The second she thought that it felt like a rationalization, but she pushed it aside.

"I knew that already, babe," Harry said. "I'll be in the office all day, remember? That damn fire really messed things up as far as paperwork was concerned. Not a lot was damaged but wizards aren't really known for their thorough records and numerous backup copies. We've got to go through all the Pensieve entries and match them to files to figure out which ones were lost. Sometimes my job really is the worst, Ginny," he finished with a sigh, and stumbled through the room and flopped onto the bed, stretching diagonally across the duvet.

Ginny smiled and stripped off her jeans, climbing into bed next to her boyfriend and kissing his nose. "Just making sure we knew the plan, baby," she said. "I didn't want to scare you or anything if I didn't turn up."

Harry smiled, eyes closed already. "Thanks, honey," he said. "Have fun tomorrow. Paint me something lovely."

"I'll try, babe," Ginny replied. "Good night."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Work was fairly uneventful on Thursday. George was still highly amused by the Oliver situation and kept making bizarre references to "the Ginny of yesteryear" but Ginny ignored it after the first few minutes and the day was largely tolerable. In fact, by the time Hermione came to get Ginny for dinner, she was in a rather good and anticipatory mood.

"So, are you still going out with Oliver tonight?" Hermione asked over the bowl of pasta she and Ginny had elected to share. "Sorry for ditching you tonight, but my bosses want me to travel to meet with my client tomorrow so I'll have to get up a bit earlier to finish all the work I need to do."

"I understand," Ginny said. "No hard feelings, and yeah I'm still going. Harry's working late anyway so I might as well go out. There's nothing to do at home without Harry around, really."

Hermione frowned. "That doesn't really sound like the self-sufficient Ginny I've known," she said, a teasing edge to her voice but the frown still present on her face. "You always used to be able to entertain yourself."

"Well, Grimmauld isn't exactly known for its thriving neighborhood," Ginny quipped. "Besides, I've watched too many Muggle shows to even want to know what's on the internet. Harry and I only have a computer and stuff for convenience, I guess. I still use owls and all that. I guess I'm just old-school."

"I think you're side-tracking," Hermione said firmly. "I don't know what it is, Ginny, but something has been up with you lately. Has… I mean, I hate to pry into your business like this and it seems so unlikely, but has anything happened with Harry?"

Ginny opened her mouth to set Hermione's fears at rest, but then she paused. Really, had anything happened with Harry? The answer was still "no," but as she thought about it, the answer went deeper than that. Nothing bad had happened with Harry, but nothing really great was happening either. Their relationship had plateaued. Before they had moved in together, she had felt a kind of nice excitement of anticipation whenever they would see each other, no matter how often, because there was always a break in between. There was time without each other to make the time together more sweet and varied. Now it was the same daily schedule: work, come home, maybe have sex if they both felt like it (which was often - Ginny had no complaints about her sex life with Harry, unless it was that it had become rather routine). They slept in the same bed every night. Ginny knew Harry would never cheat on her, so there was no use stirring the pot.

All this passed through her head in an instant, and she returned to Hermione's question. "No, nothing's happened," she said, "but maybe that's the problem."

Hermione furrowed her brow, twirling the same few strands of pasta on her fork over and over. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well," Ginny began, "things have been nice with Harry. But that's just it. They've just been nice. Nothing terribly exciting, you know, pretty much the same routine every day. I feel like we're stagnating together, you know? Like an old couple. But I don't feel old, Hermione, I feel young. I want to go out and live something, you know? I want to fight and have adventures and have sex in dangerous places and just be risky together and that-"

"That is totally not Harry at all," Hermione finished Ginny's sentence for her. "Well, what are you planning on doing about it? Maybe if you told him all this things would change."

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "It would make him feel guilty and I hate when that happens, because I get this 'I've-kicked-a-puppy' feeling and that's not a good feeling, in case you were wondering." Ginny sighed. "I don't know, Hermione, maybe if you said something to him? I mean, not making it obvious that I told you but, you know, kind of hinting at it somehow?"

Hermione smiled wryly. "Ginny, I'm the least subtle person in the world," she said. "I don't think you'd want me to be the one to deliver this message. I mean, I'm not sure who you would want to… Maybe Luna? She's crazy enough to make it work. In a good way," Hermione added quickly. Everyone loved Luna but really she was a little nutty.

"I don't know," Ginny moaned. "She'd be blatant about it, you know, either that or too confusing to be followed at all."

"Well," Hermione said softly, stirring her water with her straw, "you could just tell him yourself. That would probably be the easiest way of doing it. You could tell him exactly what you want him to hear and then be done with the whole thing, without having to rely on anyone else's discretion."

Ginny thought for a moment. In the silence, Hermione started speaking again in a very small voice. "Ginny, I mean, do you think it's worth ending things? I mean, you don't want to get married yet, you both know that, and if Harry is anything it's the marrying type."

"Which I'm not," Ginny agreed. "I don't know, Hermione. I keep telling myself that I'll wait a little while, maybe I'll want to get married, but it doesn't happen, it hasn't happened yet. And I know I'm only twenty-one," she said, seeing Hermione's next point and cutting her off before she could ask it, "and I totally think I could turn into Betty Housewife in the near future, but I'm not sure if I can wait - or if it's fair to Harry to wait - in this one-note relationship until I am ready, you know?"

There was a small pause. Hermione waited for Ginny to add anything, and, when the quiet persisted, she spoke up. "Ginny, I want you to know something. You should never be afraid of going after the things you want. You're brave and independent and I love those things in you. Never let something tie you down just because you feel obligated to it. You're not bound to anything permanently. This sounds cliche," she added, laughing a little, "but you only live once. You only have one chance to really be yourself and go after what you want. The only person that can coop you up is you, Ginny."

Ginny smiled. "I know, Hermione," she said. "It's hard to keep that in mind sometimes, though, so thanks for reminding me. I don't know, I don't feel like ditching Harry or anything because it seems like such a fixable thing but we'll see. I just feel like permanently living like this is going to drive me insane. You know me, Hermione, I can't even sit still for twenty minutes."

"You did at painting class," Hermione said around the final mouthful of pasta. "It seemed like you were really interested there, even in that awful lecture about artists no one's ever heard of."

Ginny let her jaw drop comically. "Hermione Granger thinking a lecture was boring?" she gasped, pressing her hand to her chest as if shocked. "Is the world ending?"

Hermione smacked Ginny's hand with her napkin. "Come on, silly, let's get going. Wouldn't want to be late for another instance of you sitting still for ninety minutes."

"Your wish is my command, you degenerate," Ginny replied, and laughing, the two women made their way out of the restaurant.

"Today we're going to learn how to manipulate what you've all discovered you can do," Oliver announced as Ginny, Hermione, and Roger grabbed their canvases and perched themselves on stools. "So that means we're going to first try painting a monochrome canvas."

Ginny rolled her eyes. So much for enjoying painting class.

"I'm sure all of you are wondering why we have to do that when it only took a burst of inspiration for you to complete those beautiful works of art last week," Oliver said. "Well, sometimes it's fun to paint with purpose, you know? Usually imagination formatting is only done as a practice, and, to be honest, it usually doesn't work after the first time. Now, I'm sure you all noticed that there were differences between your thoughts and what actually appeared on the canvas? Like, there was one image in the process which came out but it wasn't the final image you pictured, or it wasn't quite as you imagined it?"

Ginny nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione and Roger nod too.

"Well, that's common," Oliver said reassuringly. "There's nothing wrong with you, that's just why we have to practice this. All your works turned out beautifully, though. You all show signs of very vivid imagination and very realistic senses of memory. I'm excited to see if your willpowers match up. Probably not all of you," Oliver added, winking at no one in particular. Ginny felt the comment was directed at her but refrained from reacting. "So, let's get started: choose a color in your mind."

After several failed attempts, Ginny had made a canvas that was almost completely the same shade of green. She had been trying to imagine the color of Harry's eyes, but somehow it was difficult to remember them consistently. She kept changing her mind and slightly altering the coloring in the midst of her painting attempts, and the transference from mind to canvas was proportionately disrupted.

Hermione shoved her arms into her coat sleeves. Her attempt to paint a brown canvas had not been nearly as successful as she had imagined and Ginny could tell her friend was frustrated. Hermione had never had difficulty succeeding and any impediment to her prowess always seemed much bigger to her than it actually was.

"So, are you ladies still up for drinks?" Oliver said, shrugging into a weathered-looking leather jacket.

"I can't," Hermione said curtly. "I actually have work in the morning."

"I'll go," Ginny said, glaring at Hermione as she tied the belt on her pea coat. "It'll be nice to catch up. Hermione wasn't happy when she told me she couldn't make it."

"No need to be nice, Ginny," Oliver chuckled. "Hermione's had a difficult class and I'm sure I'm the last person she wants to spend more time with."

Hermione huffed and bid Ginny a brief goodbye before walking out. She didn't acknowledge Oliver, but he seemed unperturbed as he turned to Ginny. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. " I was thinking about going to the Leaky but of course it's up to you."

"The Leaky is fine," Ginny said. "I'm not much of a barfly so I don't know many good spots."

Oliver chuckled. "Really?" he asked. "I would have expected you to be more of a party girl, you know? Just having fun and all that."

"Well, I'm grown up a bit now," Ginny said as they walked down the steps toward the front door together. "You know, I've got a job and a house and a boyfriend and such. I just don't need to be going out all the time to enjoy myself."

"Very respectable," Oliver said, proffering his arm. Ginny took it and felt the squeeze of Apparition once more clamp down on her and whirl her away.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"So, what have you been up to for the last, oh, I don't know, ten years or so?"

"What an opening question," Ginny said, taking a sip of her beer. "I don't know, a lot. Graduating, getting a few jobs, striking out on my own. You know. How about you?"

"Whoa, now," Oliver said, laughing a little and swirling his drink, "don't think you can get away with ten years of information all in that one answer. I mean, that was no detail at all."

Ginny sighed, grinning. She and Oliver had been at the bar for less than five minutes and she was already completely warmed up to him. He had a way of making her feel relaxed and talkative. "Well, I don't know," she said. "You might have to be more specific than that. Ask me a question that covers less ground, you know?"

Oliver swirled his drink again for a moment, taking a thoughtful sip. "Well," he said, "have you found your passion yet?"

Ginny was silent for a moment as she tried to understand the question. "Well," she said finally, talking slowly to stall for time, "I don't think I know you well enough to really answer that."

Oliver squinted at her for a moment, then chuckled. Ginny liked watching him laugh; his smile spread all the way across his face and split it into dozens of small lines. Ginny appreciated rather suddenly that Oliver was probably thirty years old. "Ginny," he said, "just tell me what you like doing. What is it in your life that you look forward to every morning? Or every week. Or whenever."

"Oh," Ginny exhaled. "Well, I like work. I work with my brother at the joke shop in Diagon Alley."

"Really?" Oliver said, leaning slightly closer to her across the bar where they were seated. "Is that what you dreamed of doing?" he asked. "Do you love your job? Do you wake up every morning excited about going, even if maybe you'd rather do other things?"

Ginny frowned. "Well, I mean, I'm not wetting myself over it," she said, taking a swallow of beer. "I like working with George, you know, he's a nice boss and we've always gotten along. And I guess that's pretty much all you can ask for with a job, right?"

Oliver smiled, staring into his glass as his eyes unfocused slightly. "Maybe I'll tell you first," he said, looking up at Ginny again from his slightly angled vantage point. "That way you know what I'm talking about."

"Okay," Ginny said. She signaled the bartender for another beer.

Oliver paused for a second, downed the rest of his glass, and then turned to face Ginny head on. "Every morning I wake up and I'm glad I have," he began. "I'm sure you feel like that sometimes too, so you know what I'm talking about. But I wake up excited because I've found something that really fulfills me. I get up every morning excited about going to the studio and painting and teaching new students how to use their magic. Sometimes I even teach physical painting," he added, and his voice got oddly shy, "but none of the adults want to learn that. Only my kids' classes."

"You teach kids too?" Ginny asked, somewhat surprised.

"Of course," Oliver replied, smiling easily. He seemed to always be smiling or to be one step away from smiling. "Kids are the best students, you know? They love making things, they love using their hands and even learning a little bit about magic. It's still all hocus-pocus and Merlin to them."

Ginny laughed. "Do you have any kids of your own?"

Oliver grinned again, holding up one of his hands. "Ah-ah," he said, shaking a finger like an overbearing parent. "You still haven't answered my original question, and I gave you a hint and everything. What are you passionate about, Ginny? What makes you excited to get up in the morning?"

Ginny paused. Her life had been rather routine lately, and while she wasn't exactly unhappy waking up every morning, she wasn't sure if she could identify something that really made her happy to be awake and about. "Well," she said slowly as another thought came into her head, "I guess I'm just excited to see what's coming up next, you know? Nothing new has really happened for a while so I'm just looking for whatever will shake things up."

"Do you think maybe coming to my class was an attempt to shake things up? Not that I flatter myself interesting or anything, just curious," Oliver asked.

"Probably," Ginny said, taking another sip of her beer. "Hermione has brought me to a bunch of these bogus classes before and I never really liked them. To be honest," she added, "I've dragged myself to a lot of shit like your class and never felt a connection or interest. But something's different about you and your painting."

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. "Mind telling me what it was?" he asked. "You know, in case I need to boost enrollment or something."

Ginny laughed quietly. "I dunno," she said. Now that she had to think about it, she wasn't sure exactly what it was that had drawn her to the class. "I guess it was that you understood. At first it threw me off and made me feel uncomfortable because it seems kind of weird … But then you just looked at my painting of Egypt, and you knew everything. But you didn't just know, you understood. You really seemed to feel everything that I was feeling. I liked that. Although," she added, allowing a lighter hint to creep into her voice, "painting me still seems kind of creepy." She winked at him, taking another sip of beer as Oliver chuckled.

"I couldn't help it," he protested laughingly. "I know you have your boyfriend and all that, but I'm going to say it anyway, Ginny; you're gorgeous. You make a great subject with all your contrasts." His voice faded slightly, his eyes unfocused, taking her in. "Your skin stands out marvelously against your hair."

"Thanks," Ginny said, smiling. "I won't tell Harry you said it."

"Harry?" Oliver asked, eyes widening comically. "Oh, so it's still you and him, hmm? You two have been together since the last time I saw Harry, then."

"Basically," Ginny sighed, gulping her beer, "but I like to think my relationship status is the least interesting aspect of my life."

Oliver stifled another laugh. "Is that good, in the sense that you're leading an incredibly interesting life where the fun relationship you have is only the fun part, or bad, in the sense that your life is on the good side but your relationship is totally boring?"

Ginny quirked her mouth to one side in a wry smile. "I'd hope it's the former," she sighed, finishing her beer, "but if you want the truth I think it's a mix of the two. But my life isn't really that interesting so you can see how devastated I am."

"Well," Oliver said slowly, swirling the ice in his glass with the dregs of his drink, "I think I may know a way to help you out, at least for one night, in the interesting-life department."

"If you're asking for a one-night stand, I'm not that kind of girl. I'm not quite driven to desperation," Ginny said as Oliver finished his own drink.

He nearly choked on his beverage as he laughed in response to Ginny's comment. "Oh, you think since I painted you I want everything now," he chuckled. Ginny joined him a little sheepishly in laughing. "No, silly," he continued. "I'm an excellent dancer and this bar occasionally plays good music. So come on, on your feet."

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry this chapter is a little late, everyone! (I feel so honored that I have an "everyone" to write to! Thank you so much for reading!) This past week was the craziest of my entire life, but things will not get that bad again before the end of the school year. And after that comes summer! Much work to be done ahead! I hope you enjoyed Oliver and Ginny's first one-on-one interaction. The pace will be picking up from here. ~ TheGoldenAge


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, Ginny was woken up eight minutes before her alarm by the sound of her cell phone ringing. She groaned, felt clumsily around on her bedside table until she felt the vibration of her phone under her fingers, and squinted at the caller ID with bleary eyes.

Ginny huffed a sigh. "Of course," she grumbled, accepting the call and holding the phone up to her ear. "Hermione this had better be the most important phone call I've ever taken."

"Morning, Ginny," Hermione's voice crackled through the speaker. She sounded a little bustling and, of course, very awake. "Sorry to call you so early but I'm leaving for work in a bit and I thought over the trip I could hear about your night."

Ginny rolled over, switching her phone from ear to ear as she did so. "Harry's still sleeping," she muttered.

"Then move to another room!" Hermione exclaimed, and Ginny heard her heels clicking against the floor in the background. "You two live in a giant house and I will not be denied here."

"Yeah well get used to it," Ginny grumbled. "I'll talk to you later, Hermione, I'm going to sleep for six more minutes. Bye."

Ginny ignored Hermione's indistinct outbursts as she placed the phone on the bedside table and flopped back down on the pillow. Harry was staring blearily at her.

"Morning, babe," he said, smiling sleepily. "Was that Hermione?"

"Yeah," Ginny confirmed, pecking Harry on the cheek. "Now shush, I'm going to sleep for five more minutes."

When Ginny got to work, George wasn't there yet. She let herself in and started dusting things, hoping that George would get there soon and give her something more interesting to do; Ginny hated dusting more than almost anything. At least Hermione wasn't there bothering her again; Hermione was Ginny's best friend, but sometimes she was a little nosy.

Ginny was up on the ladder tidying up some of the stock when a tap on the window nearly startled her into falling on her ass. She climbed carefully down the ladder as the tapping continued, wondering who on earth would send George an owl at this hour of the morning. George was a notoriously late riser, so any people trying to get a hold of him before ten were wasting their time. Hurrying to open the window, Ginny let the owl in, and it fluttered spastically around for a moment before finally settling on a shelf at Ginny's eye level.

"What a good bird you are," she crooned, untying the scroll from its leg and patting its head gently. "Now git, little man."

The bird flew out the window, and Ginny shut the glass again behind the little brown owl. She looked down at the scroll, hoping she could maybe find a clue about who might have sent it. To her surprise, it wasn't addressed to George; her name was on the outside. She carefully broke through the tape which had been used to seal the letter (which was pretty unusual; for a second she thought maybe it was from George, as half the time he couldn't be arsed to make a proper seal) and was surprised by the handwriting inside; it was unrecognizable.

Ginny,

Last night was fun. Hope that won't sound too scandalous to the boyfriend. Also, hope it isn't too forward of me to send you a little note. I just told the owl to head to WWW, so I hope your brother isn't reading this. If I remember George properly, he doesn't usually let a joke pass unmade. Anyway, I was wondering if maybe you, Harry, and Hermione would like to go to the Puddlemere match on Saturday with me? I've got sort of an in with them and they'd give me free tickets if I asked. Of course, if Hermione's mystery man (who I suspect is Ron) would like to come too, that would be spiffing. And George too but I think Alicia's coming back soon (I do talk to some people from school) so he might not want to. Have a nice day at work. Let's be new friends, all right?

Oliver

Ginny grinned to herself, folding up the note and putting it in her pocket as she moved back toward the ladder she had abandoned in her quest for the owl. What a nice guy Oliver had turned out to be! Who even wrote notes anymore? Well, Ginny thought, Hermione did, but that didn't count as they were all work memos.

Just as Ginny reached the shelf she had been working on before Oliver's note came, the front door banged open and George came bustling in, as full of activity as ever.

"Morning, Georgey," Ginny called, purposely trying to annoy him. Sometimes it felt nice to get back at him.

"Hi, Gin," he replied, and immediately Ginny felt cowed. She hated that nickname. "You're early."

"Yeah, well, I got a lot of sleep last night and Hermione woke me up early this morning so I thought I'd come in," Ginny explained, straightening the last of the Lifting Drinks (which George had shamelessly lifted from the old Willy Wonka film) and beginning to climb back down the ladder. "Sorry, I guess. I haven't done any damage."

"I should hope not, I'm not paying you to ruin things," George snorted, unwinding his scarf and hanging it up on the hat rack. "Wait, why would Hermione wake you- OH!"

Ginny cursed under her breath. She'd subconsciously been hoping that George wouldn't remember.

"How was your night out, then?" he asked, grinning and moving toward her a little at a time. "Come on, you can tell me. Hermione doesn't really see me as one of the girls yet so I don't feel obligated to relay information to her."

Ginny gave a grudging chuckle. "All right, if you leave me alone I'll tell you." George nodded rapidly, batting his eyelashes in an off-target imitation of Hermione. "It was fine. Oliver's nice company, and we talked and danced and such, and then I went home and put Harry to bed. Nothing special, I guess. He's invited me and basically everyone I know to go to the Puddlemere match on Saturday."

"Wow," George huffed. "He's not just nice."

"Shut up," Ginny laughed, shoving her brother playfully. "He really is."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Hey, Harry," Ginny called as she shut the front door behind her. She had needed to take an all-day shift, as she did occasionally when Verity or Ernie couldn't come in, so Harry should have gotten in before her. As she turned around, unbuttoning her coat, she suddenly smelled something. It was a fairly light smell - coming from the kitchen, she hoped - so she couldn't quite make out what it was. She tiptoed through the hallway, around the corner, and into the kitchen, and gasped.

Harry, who hadn't heard her due to the headphones he was wearing, was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot with one hand and holding a cookbook in the other. "I doubt she'll know whether I use magic or not," he muttered, and Ginny stifled a giggle. "This is ridiculous."

He continued to stir the pot, but he put the cookbook down and felt around blindly on the counter until he found a bottle of some kind of spice; Ginny couldn't tell what kind. He shook it over the mixture deliberately before setting it back on the counter; however, he had placed it too close to the edge without realizing it and it wobbled and fell off. The scene changed instantly as Harry froze, his gaze traveling rapidly from the pot to the bottle tumbling off the counter. Ginny couldn't control her laughter any more as her boyfriend's jaw dropped comically and she chuckled aloud as the parsley spilled all over the floor.

Harry's head whipped around as her laughter finally reached his ears, face still frozen in hilarious surprise at the spilled spices. Ginny walked over to him, carefully avoiding the parsley, and took the headphones from his ears. "You made dinner for me?" she asked, still grinning from her laughing fit.

Harry nodded, reaching into his pocket and turning off his music. "Yeah," he sighed. "I guess it just isn't turning out too well."

Ginny peered into the pot. Inside was a mysterious reddish sauce, and she could smell meat in the oven. Probably chicken. "It's the thought that counts, baby," Ginny said, kissing Harry soundly. "You're such a nice boyfriend."

"It's easy when your girlfriend is perfect," Harry replied, smiling and pulling out his wand. He waved it and vanished the parsley on the floor. "I guess we'll have to get new … whatever that stuff is called."

"Parsley," Ginny supplied, turning off the stove. "I think your sauce is burning, honey."

Harry smacked his forehead. "And I was trying so hard," he groaned. "Well, we could just season the chicken."

"Sounds perfect," Ginny smiled. "I'll make a vegetable; I'm sure we've got something in the freezer. Unless you feel like being a complete saint and making it yourself…"

"I am a saint," Harry said, smirking and kissing Ginny on the cheek. "You just sit back and watch."

"You're perfect," Ginny said, smiling back and sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, putting her feet up on another one. "I think you've got some great reward sex coming up for you this evening."

Harry had started to light up when she mentioned his perfection, but as Ginny finished her second sentence, she thought her boyfriend's smile was going to crack right through his face.

"I know this is terrible pillow talk, but I just remembered that Oliver invited us to the Puddlemere United game on Saturday," Ginny sighed, running her hand up her boyfriend's stomach and curling her fingers into a fist on his chest. "He said he could get tickets for you and I and Hermione and Ron. And George too. He's a nice guy."

"Yeah, I can tell," Harry agreed, laughing. "Yeah, all right. But that's tomorrow, right? Or later today? Do you want to go?"

"Yeah, a little," said Ginny. "I haven't been to a match since that rubbish club league I was in. And Oliver said he'd get tickets for us, not that it really matters."

"It's a bit late in the game to get back to him about it, though," Harry murmured, kissing Ginny's forehead.

"That's the thing," Ginny said slowly. "I sort of already wrote and told him we were coming. I just assumed you would want to go."

Harry was silent for a moment, and then he chuckled. Ginny could feel his laughter through his chest. "You're insane, you know that?" he said, still laughing. "You're basically the best girlfriend ever. Sex every night I want it, free Quidditch games…"

Ginny started laughing. "Sooner or later you'll realize I have flaws," she said. Then, her voice a little quieter, she continued. "I just… I don't know, I wanted to do something. I feel like sometimes things are a little routine with us, Harry. I thought even something little might shake things up enough. You know, we wake up, go to work, come home, have dinner, have sex, go to bed, wake up, go to work, over and over again. Going to the game might start something in us again. Kick start things."

There was another silent moment. Ginny waited with somewhat bated breath; Harry sometimes took things so personally that it wasn't always worth it to bring something up unless it was important. "Yeah," Harry sighed finally, and Ginny looked up at him. He was staring, rather empty-eyed, at the ceiling. "You're probably right. I'm sorry I'm so boring, Ginny."

"No, that's not-" Ginny began, but Harry was still talking so she let him finish his thoughts.

"You'd think that since I had such an exciting life in school, things would be the same now." Harry laughed, and the sound was anything but mirthful. "I guess I thought I had had enough excitement. I thought I wanted to have a more sedate time, with the woman I love, living together. To me, you're all the adventure I need or want anymore. But it does make sense that you'd want more, Ginny. You're different than I am. You're more lively. And I love that about you, I don't want to squash it out of you."

Ginny sighed. She remained silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She did want more variety, but she didn't want it from someone who didn't want it himself. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to make you feel like anything was wrong with you."

"No, I know," Harry interrupted, and Ginny sighed huffily. He ignored her, however, and continued. "I'm not mad at you. I'm more mad at myself than anything else. I'll fix myself for you, Ginny. I promise. I'll be better for you."

"I don't need you to be better," Ginny said, "and you don't need fixing or anything. I'm just saying I thought it might be nice if we start doing things again." But Harry didn't reply, and neither of them said anything else that night.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

When Ginny was getting ready to leave for the Quidditch match the next afternoon, she still felt vaguely upset - or at least disquieted - over her discussion with Harry. He seemed to be ignoring the fact that it had happened at all, so she hadn't tried to explain anything further for fear of ruffling his calm right before they went out. For some reason, she felt strange about the fact that Oliver might guess that she and Harry were arguing at all - but, then again, Hermione was right, she really never did let anyone know anything about her. She usually didn't even tell George if she had had a spat with her boyfriend, although that was mostly because he would just tease her about it.

Ginny took a little more time than usual getting ready. She typically liked to look nice when she went out with Harry, but today she buried her clothes under a warm jacket and scarf. The high altitude seats at Quidditch matches didn't help the already-chilly English weather. She did, however, do her makeup more nicely than usual, and she made sure her ponytail was neat. "Harry!" she called, hastily putting on her earrings. "Are you ready?"

"Merlin's beard," her boyfriend shouted from the hallway. "We're not going to be late, we're Apparating!"

"Yes, I know," Ginny called back, "but Oliver wanted to meet us a little before the game so we could find our seats." She could almost hear Harry sighing downstairs; he hated to be pressured, or even to feel pressured. "I'm sorry, baby, I just don't want to be late because I don't know how picking up the tickets will work."

"All right," Harry said, appearing behind her in the mirror as she checked her hair for the hundredth time. He kissed her cheek curtly. "You look great," he added. "Let's go, I just have to grab my jacket on the way out."

Ginny followed her boyfriend down the stairs, to the closet, and out onto the front steps. "Sorry if I rushed you, baby," she said, hoping things were completely smoothed over although nothing had actually been done to resolve last night's issues. "I guess I'm just excited to be going out with you."

Harry smiled down at her. "You're cute," he said, kissing her on the nose. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry for being difficult."

And although he didn't specify as they Apparated together, Ginny knew that his apology covered more than just a lack of motivation to be ready on time.

When Ginny and Harry finally got to the Puddlemere ticket booth, the wizard inside instantly recognized them - or, at least Harry.

"Mr. Potter!" the man exclaimed, beginning to rummage through bins in his office. "It's nice to see you out on a day like today. And with your lovely lady friend, too," he added, sparing a smile and a wink for Ginny. Ginny smiled back, tightening her grip on Harry's arm. Sometimes she really was proud to be with Harry.

"We have tickets waiting for us," Harry said, his best dealing-with-the-public smile on his face. "I think they're under-"

"Wood," the man finished, emerging from the bins with two tickets. "Yes, Mr. Wood stopped by earlier this week to reserve them for you, and of course I remembered."

"Thanks," Ginny said as Harry reached out to take the tickets.

"You're welcome, ma'am," the man replied, smiling and bobbing his head at them. "Enjoy the match, you two!"

Ginny waved over Harry's shoulder as they walked toward the stands. Puddlemere's stadium wasn't the nicest in the league, but it was the oldest, and something about stepping onto the old wooden steps felt historic and somehow homey.

Harry studied the tickets as they slowly made their way up the stairs; there weren't many people who hadn't found their seats yet, so the steps were mainly empty. "Bloody hell," he said, "these tickets are for the top box. Oliver must be making more money as a painting teacher than he lets on."

"Well," Ginny said, "didn't he play Quidditch at some point?"

Harry frowned at her. "You don't know?" he asked. "What on earth did you talk about all night?"

Ginny sighed. "We weren't out all night, silly," she said. "And we just didn't get around to talking about work, I guess. He probably didn't feel like discussing his job right after a day of doing it, you know?"

"Mmm," Harry grunted. "Feel like just Apparating to the top?"

Ginny laughed. "You're the laziest bastard I've ever met," she said. "And yes, I do."

In the blink of an eye, Ginny fond herself face-to-face with Oliver, who happened to be on his way to the stairs. "Ginny!" he exclaimed. "Thank Merlin, I was resigned to watching the match by myself."

"Well now you don't have to," Ginny said, smiling. "And anyway, I told you I would be coming."

"Yeah, but what does a promise mean in our day and age?" Oliver replied in a humorously overdramatic tone of voice. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here." After grinning at Ginny in a way that just made her feel warm in her chest, Oliver turned to Harry. "Potter!" he said, every bit as enthusiastic as he was in Quidditch practice at Hogwarts. "Good to see you, man. I see you've been doing well for yourself."

Harry grinned, shaking the hand that Oliver extended firmly enough that Ginny could tell from where she stood. "Pretty well, Wood," Harry agreed. "But you're not doing so bad either, I guess."

"I get by," Oliver smiled. "Well enough to come to a match sometimes!" He turned slightly so it was clear he was addressing both Harry and Ginny. "Do you have a favorite today?"

"Honestly I don't even know who the other team is," Harry chuckled. "Ginny left out some crucial details when she briefed me on the schedule for today."

"My bad," Oliver said smiling, probably seeing the beginnings of irritation crossing Ginny's face. "I didn't tell her anything, honestly. I just remembered that you both used to play at Hogwarts and I'm tired of going by myself."

"We were happy to come," Ginny smiled. "Thanks for inviting us, Oliver."

"No problem," he replied. "In case you were wondering, by the way, the Cannons are playing today. Personally, I think Puddlemere is going to run away with the win."

Led by Oliver's easy remarks about the game, potential outcomes, and players that he knew, the conversation rambled easily through the opening minutes of the game. When Puddlemere scored their first goal, Oliver cheered for the Chaser who'd made it by name, which gave Harry the opportunity that Ginny could tell he'd been waiting for a while.

"Oliver, you seem to know everyone on the team," Harry said. "Do you come to all the games or just follow the sport?"

Oliver chuckled. "I guess Ginny and I never got around to this the other night," he said. Ginny frowned. It seemed like a weird and unrelated thing to say, but Harry didn't seem affected by it. "I used to play for Puddlemere."

"Really?" Ginny asked. "How did you get into art teaching, then?"

"Well, that's kind of complicated for a Quidditch match," Oliver responded. "Do you two want to get dinner after Puddlemere wins? That way all we have to feel obligated to talk about is the goals scored or who we think is a horrible player."

Ginny looked over to Harry to see what he thought, but his eyes were focused somewhere over Ginny's shoulder, squinting. "Is that a-"

"Ginny, look out!" Oliver shouted.

Ginny whirled around to see what they were talking about but then her vision went black. She felt a stunning impact against her skull, heard people shouting, and then nothing.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I am so sorry for not updating last week! I finished my semester and moved out of my dorm, so I was fairly busy! In return, I'm planning on updating two chapters next week rather than one! Thanks so very much for reading, all!<p>

-TheGoldenAge


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"I don't think your boyfriend likes me very much anymore."

Ginny hadn't even opened her eyes, but Oliver's voice nevertheless drifted to her from some point on her left. She tried to remain still; this was made easier by the fact that she didn't think she could move her throbbing head.

"I know you can hear me," Oliver continued. Ginny didn't open her eyes. She didn't even know where she was. She didn't seem to be at the stadium anymore; there wasn't enough background noise. All she could remember was Oliver talking about work with Harry. "So I'm going to keep talking. I don't think he likes me. After that Bludger smacked you in the head he had a complete fit making sure you were alive and, when that was over, he glared at me and starting doing Auror business securing the pitch and insisted on doing some sort of investigation. That's actually where he is now. So I'm here alone, waiting for you to wake up - well, at least, that's what I was doing. Now I'm talking to you, waiting for you to open your eyes, and I'm guessing that since you're not wincing at the sound of my voice, your head must be feeling at least a little bit better. Come on, open up those eyes, Ginny."

"Why isn't Harry here?" Ginny asked, knowing what Oliver had said but not quite understanding it. Her head did hurt quite a bit. Her voice seemed to bounce out of her mouth, into her ears, and around her skull.

"I'm sure I could explain it better if you opened your eyes," Oliver said. He chuckled a little. "Maybe I'll use visual cues."

Ginny sighed. "What's the lighting like?" she asked.

"It's a wizarding hospital," Oliver said as if explaining to a child that two plus two was four. "It adjusts, of course. It'll be perfect, I promise."

Ginny sighed again and cracked her eyes open just enough for light to get through. Oliver did seem to be right; it wasn't too bright yet. Slowly, she separated her eyelids bit by bit until she was staring up at a white ceiling dotted with low-burning lamps. She wasn't sure if she could turn her head without more pain, and didn't really want to move more than she had to. "What side are you sitting on?" she asked Oliver, hoping that even if he lied to her to mess around she would be able to gauge where he was based on the sound his voice came from.

"I'm on your left," he replied, and indeed his voice did seem to be coming from there. Ginny turned slowly, but surprisingly felt very little additional pain, and soon was looking right at Oliver's cheerful face. "Hi," he said, smiling a little wider.

"Hi," she replied, smiling grudgingly. "So where's Harry and what happened to me? Also," Ginny added as an afterthought, "where am I?"

"I think I'll answer those questions in a mixed order," Oliver said. "I'll start with 'What happened to me?'. Well, I'm sure you remember that you, your boyfriend and I were all at a Quidditch match." Ginny nodded, mostly to test her range of movement, and again was pleasantly surprised when no additional pain occurred. "Well, you turned to join our conversation, and it seemed like out of nowhere a Bludger came flying right at you. I say 'seemed' not because there was no Bludger - because, as I'm sure you've deduced, there was in fact a Bludger - but rather because it had to have come from somewhere. Which is what Harry is probably trying to figure out. Anyway, although I can say that both Harry and I heroically attempted to save you, the Bludger struck you in the head with unrelenting force. So, Harry took it upon himself to investigate the situation to make sure there was no foul play, leaving me to take you to St. Mungo's, which is where we are now. Does that answer everything?"

Ginny frowned, which caused the ache in her head to intensify momentarily. "I think," she said slowly. "I have two more questions."

"Ask away," Oliver said, smiling.

"First, why didn't Harry come here with me? That seems pretty out of character for him. He doesn't really leave my side normally, much less when I'm injured."

"Well," Oliver said, "I'm guessing a sense of duty overtook him. If it helps any, he did seem far more nervous about your health than the situation required. But maybe it's kind of a work requirement that he try to contain any possible threats. Don't be worried, Ginny," he added. "I can tell he cares about you a lot."

"I wasn't worried," Ginny assured him, "just curious."

"Anyway," Oliver said, "your second question?"

"Oh, yeah," Ginny said, grinning. "Why did you feel the need to tell me that story so dramatically?"

Oliver chuckled. "While you've been unconscious and under the care of these Healers and Medi-witches, I've been amusing myself by figuring out the most theatrical way I could tell you what happened. I didn't want to let my concoction go to waste."

Ginny laughed, which sharpened her headache briefly. "Well, I'm sorry you were so bored," she said. "If it's any consolation, it's not like I could help how long it took to get me better."

"Understood," Oliver responded, smiling again. "How does your head feel?"

"It's all right," Ginny replied. "It's a dull ache for the most part, although it sharpens if I speak or frown or move my facial muscles at all."

"I'm so glad you said that," Oliver said, rising from his chair so fast it almost looked like he had jumped out of it. "The nurses gave me permission to give you a headache potion if you said the pain was bothering you, and I feel the thrill of a kid playing doctor just thinking about it. So let's administer this potion!"

Ginny grinned. "You're funny," she said, following his movements with interest.

"Thanks," Oliver said, pausing in uncorking a bottle of orange liquid. "I don't mean to cause any tension, so take this in as friendly a manner as possible, but you look very cute all bandaged up in a hospital bed."

"Bandaged up?" Ginny repeated, throwing her hands to her head and gingerly patting where her hair should have been. It felt like several rolls of gauze had been dedicated to holding her skull together, or whatever was happening up there. "What for?"

"Well," Oliver said, opening the bottle, "a rough edge of the Bludger caught you and there was a fair amount of blood. I think the bandages were mostly to staunch the bleeding, although for all I know about Healing there could have been a plethora of other reasons. Here's your potion," he added, extending the bottle to her.

Ginny took it. The orange liquid shone slightly, casting a cheery glow around itself. She drank it slowly, and from the first mouthful she could feel the headache getting better. By the time she was finished, there was only a strange tenderness around where the bandages were, and it didn't hurt to smile as she turned and handed the bottle back to Oliver. "Thanks," she said. "I feel loads better already."

"Don't thank me," Oliver replied, "I'm just the messenger."

"So do I have to stay here?" Ginny asked, looking aimlessly around as if a nurse or doctor might just walk through one of the walls. "I feel ready to go home as long as I've got a supply of headache potion."

"They said you've got to hang around for a bit so they can test for concussion again," Oliver said. "Apparently even the best of wizarding medicine can't do an instant heal on that. They're saying it's not probable that you have one since you just blacked out and such, but there's no such thing as too careful with concussions."

"You sound awfully worried," Ginny said, frowning slightly. There was a small pause.

"I used to play Quidditch," Oliver began, breaking the silence. "And I was rather good, if I may say so. I didn't have natural talent but did I ever practice. I was always at the training facility trying to become more agile or stronger or more accurate or something. And I flew constantly. I didn't Apparate for a whole year because I wanted to get really good at using a broomstick, even though, as a Keeper, I usually didn't have to fly any distance. But still," he added, "it did help. Anyway, one game we - Puddlemere, I don't know if you remember-"

"I do," Ginny interjected softly, feeling strangely sad already.

"Good," Oliver smiled. "Well, anyway, Puddlemere was going to play Holyhead. You probably know them, Gwendolyn Jones and her all-girl team. Anyway, we were in the midst of an intense game. They had scored three goals pretty quickly on our first-string Keeper so the coach put me in and I was doing great. I was even being a little optimistic about my possible future as a first-string player. But then, out of nowhere, much like today, a Bludger hit me. It was horrible," he continued, his eyes unfocused as if he were looking through Ginny into the past. "It wasn't the sharpest or most unendurable pain I've ever felt, but I instantly knew something wasn't right. I had that moment of clarity; then, everything became confused. I didn't know who I was or where I was or why I was vomiting. I was lucky someone caught me with a spell or I might have broken my neck hitting the ground. I couldn't see a thing. I felt sick and exhausted and… Well, I don't need to share with you all the gory details. The long story short is that I had a concussion. And it forced me to retire."

Ginny gasped. She had seen that ending coming but still it was painful. "I'm sorry," she said, woefully inadequate.

"It's okay," Oliver said, trying to be bright but still seeming a little sad. "The team - and I - didn't want to risk another head injury and possible death over a game, you know? So, while in I guess what you could call recovery, I took up painting, and eventually teaching. I'm fairly happy where I am today, and Puddlemere always gives me season tickets and still invites me out for drinks sometimes like I'm part of the team."

Ginny smiled. "That's good," she started to say, but just as she opened her mouth the door of the hospital room opened. As her boyfriend walked in, Ginny remembered with an out-of-character and rather girlish blush that Oliver had called her cute.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

After a reunion with Harry, who was almost tearful with unnecessary worry, Ginny asked Oliver if there was any way he could find her a nurse that would be willing to discharge her, or at least start the tests they needed to run. Oliver tactfully agreed and slipped out of the room, leaving Ginny alone with her distraught boyfriend.

"So," she began, hoping she might cut off his more emotional declarations, "was anything evil happening at the match you big brave superman?"

Harry smiled tersely. "No," he said. "It seemed to just be chance, but I'm still glad we checked it out. Although," he added, looking concerned again, "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. Were you scared at all?"

"Not really," Ginny said, realizing as she did that this probably wasn't the answer Harry was looking for. "Oliver was already talking as I came to, so I knew I wasn't alone and I knew I couldn't be anywhere too bad. It was nice of him to stay with me; he didn't have to."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, although he sounded less than enthusiastic. Ginny figured he was probably just unfocused considering how busy he'd been. "So have you been awake long?"

"Not really," Ginny said. "Just a few minutes. Oliver told me what happened and all and then you came in. So I hardly even had time to miss you." She smiled, hoping to ease whatever was troubling Harry.

"I know, baby," he said, leaning over to take Ginny's hand. "Did Oliver tell you how bravely we tried to save you from impact?"

Ginny chuckled. "Yes, he did manage to tell me about that," she said. "I'm sure you were both very courageous."

"Does your head hurt at all?" Harry asked tenderly, stroking Ginny's face with the hand that wasn't wrapped around her fingers. "You took a pretty nasty hit."

"Not so much anymore," Ginny said. "Oliver said the nurse left him with a headache potion, and he gave it to me. After I drank it I felt a lot better. Before that though it was pretty bad if I spoke or moved my face."

"Well I'm glad you feel better now," Harry said warmly, leaning in and kissing her. Ginny returned the kiss, letting her lips move softly against her boyfriend's. He reached around and gingerly took the back of her neck in his hand, opening his mouth against hers, allowing his tongue to flow with hers. Ginny arched herself up against Harry's body, feeling every curve of her body match up to the straighter lines of her boyfriend's form. She curled her arms around his neck, trusting to him to support her weight. Just as Ginny started to feel that things were going to get heated, she heard the doors open and quickly fell back to the bed, letting Harry's fingers slide through her hair as he moved back into his chair.

"Well," said a slightly scandalized female voice belonging to a bustling nurse who scuttled around the foot of Ginny's bed, "how are you feeling, dear? You had a nasty bump."

"I'm fine," Ginny said, maybe a little too quickly. "I just need a prescription for the headache potion and I can leave."

Oliver, who had entered the room behind the nurse, looked slightly reproachful, but Ginny adamantly remained focused on the nurse. However, the response there was equally quelling.

"Unfortunately, you've got to stay for a while so I can do some tests, dear," the nurse said. "It won't take very long, I promise you that, and we'll get you discharged as soon as we can. You seem fairly strong, Miss Weasley, so I'm not very worried; it's just a formality."

Ginny sighed. "If you think it would be best," she said.

The nurse pulled out her wand and began to murmur under her breath. Harry was almost glued to his chair, probably terrified of the nurse or Oliver saying something about the moment they'd walked in on. Oliver himself stood off to the side of the bed, idly looking around the room. Ginny chuckled to herself, imagining that he was counting windows or wall tiles or something like that.

The nurse chanted her spells for a few minutes; apparently, it was a fairly complex incantation. A few times Ginny felt a strange warmth flow through her head, but other than that nothing physical seemed to be happening.

"Well," the nurse said finally, pocketing her wand, "it seems you're not concussed, miss. You're pretty lucky your friend here got you to St. Mungo's so fast. The blood loss was fairly minor for a scalp wound, so you'll just feel some weakness for a day or two. Nothing worth giving you a transfusion. Take it easy for a while, maybe call in sick to work for the rest of the weekend, and I'll give you the prescription for the headache potion. You'll be fine within the week."

"Thanks," Ginny said. "Can I just get up and leave?"

"Well, there will be some forms to fill out," the nurse clucked.

Harry practically leaped out of his chair. "I'll do them for her," he offered. "Ginny can just get ready and get used to walking about again."

"Thanks, dear," Ginny said slightly sarcastically, but the nurse seemed to accept the situation and led Harry out of the room.

Ginny sighed as the doors closed behind them and looked somewhat aimlessly from side to side. "Where are my shoes?"

Oliver chuckled, bending down and retrieving her flats from somewhere near the bed. "Lost track of them in the midst of your little snogging session, did you?" he said, still laughing as he handed Ginny her shoes.

"Shut up," she laughed, trying and failing to look angry as she gingerly sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. "Merlin, I feel a bit weird. Sort of dizzy…"

"Are you nauseated at all?" Oliver asked. "They left a bucket too if you need it."

"Oh, no, I'm all right," Ginny said, shutting her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she felt much better. Her head felt simultaneously light and heavy, which was difficult to get used to, but she didn't feel like she would faint anymore. "I'm a little nervous about standing up though."

"I'll help you," Oliver offered, reaching out a hand as Ginny put her shoes on. "It wouldn't be very helpful if you fell and hit your head all over again."

"Probably not," Ginny agreed, placing her hand in Oliver's. His palm was warm, and his fingers felt strong as they curled around hers. Ginny tried not to feel nervous as she slowly got to her feet, unabashedly pulling on Oliver's hand to support herself. As she straightened up, the vertigo slammed into her and she stumbled, tripping over her own feet and stumbling right into Oliver's very prepared arms. He seemed to have expected her to fall, because almost as soon as she realized she was going to topple he had his arms around her, just as strong and warm as his hands. Ginny placed her palms against his arms, trying to steady herself. "Thanks," she said breathlessly, looking up at Oliver. She wasn't sure if it was because of her dizziness but suddenly it seemed like Oliver's eyes were much more brown than usual. "You said I was cute."

"You're even cuter now," Oliver said, unable to suppress the amused grin that crossed his face. "Do you think you can stand?"

Ginny furrowed her brow, trying to assess herself. "Maybe," she said firmly. She tried to step away, but Oliver kept a hold of her. "No, really, let me try," she added.

Oliver let his arms drop, but he kept a firm hold on her hands. Ginny took a step away from Oliver, feeling steadier already, and managed not to stumble over anything. Within a moment, she was walking on her own and her head felt much clearer. "May I escort you out of this bloody hospital?" Oliver asked, crooking his elbow at her like something out of a period piece.

"Sure," Ginny replied, smiling and hooking her arm through Oliver's. "So," she added as they walked through the doors, "do you really think I'm cute?"

Oliver's laughter was so loud it echoed through the hallway.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"You know," Oliver began as the three of them finally exited the hospital, Harry's arm firmly around Ginny's waist, "although it will have to be postponed, my offer of dinner still stands. I like having you and Hermione in my class," he added, addressing this part directly to Ginny. "I've seen more people from Hogwarts this past week than I have since I left!"

Ginny laughed politely, turning to her boyfriend. "Are you free at all next week?" she asked, hoping Harry would somehow be able to guess that she wanted to go. She rather doubted it, though; for an Auror who was always supposed to be on his feet and thinking fast, Harry could be rather oblivious sometimes.

However, he surprised her. "Yeah, I think I'll be able to work something out." He smiled down at her then turned to Oliver. "We'll get in touch with you somehow," Harry said, "and thanks for the invite."

"I'll be sure to choose somewhere good," Oliver smiled. "Bye, Harry. Take care of your injured lady, here," he added, winking at Ginny. She stuck her tongue out in reply. With that, he Apparated.

Harry exhaled against her. "Ready to go home, you little troublemaker?" he asked, gently ruffling the part of Ginny's hair he could reach around the bandages. "Are you okay to Apparate?"

"Yes to both," Ginny replied. "I really am going to call off tomorrow, I'm exhausted."

"I'm sure George will understand," Harry said, and with that he spun them into the whirlwind of Apparition.

The next morning, as Ginny waited for Harry to get back with headache potion and frozen yogurt (which hadn't been prescribed but was nevertheless requested), a knock sounded on the front door. Ginny was slightly startled. It had to be someone they knew; the Unplottable nature of 12 Grimmauld Place necessitated previous knowledge of the Potter-Weasley homestead before entry or even discovery. Ginny sighed, knowing that whomever it was would probably not leave them alone until she answered. She got to her feet, swaying slightly without the headache potion to help steady her and calm her aching head, and wobbled down the hallway. With a murmur she removed the wards from the front door and cracked it open to reveal a very firm-looking Hermione.

"Let. Me. In," said the brunette, and Ginny was far too afraid to refuse her.

Ginny closed the door behind her friend as Hermione practically marched inside, flats clicking against the floor. "So, what on earth did I do to deserve this?" she asked, trying not to be too noisy in an effort to preserve her head.

Hermione whirled around, crossing her arms. "You are going to sit in the kitchen and tell me what the hell happened yesterday while I make you soup," she commanded, and Ginny meekly complied.

"How did you know anything happened yesterday?" Ginny asked when she was seated in a chair and Hermione was installed at the stove, stirring and pouring and squinting at labels.

"You probably forgot this," Hermione replied, "but whenever you filled out your last form for St. Mungo's you listed me as your emergency contact. I don't think you and Harry lived together yet and you were going through one of those phases where you thought you were going to break up with him any day."

"Why didn't I put my mum or George?" Ginny asked, frowning.

"They can't be related," Hermione said, her voice very matter-of-fact. "Anyway, so when I got an urgent message in my fireplace from St. Mungo's I absolutely panicked. I was still at work but I begged my bosses to let me leave and I bolted for your hospital room only to find that they wouldn't let me in because there were already people in there. So," she finished, stirring her pot with the same intensity that her glare held, "they'd better have been important. Include them in your retelling."

Ginny sighed. "I wish they'd let you in," she said. "Yesterday Harry and I went to a Quidditch match with Oliver Wood. I know, I know," she continued before Hermione could cut her off, and the brunette witch shut her mouth in a tight frown, "I just thought it would be fun, all right? You know I'm easily bored. Anyway, while we were there I got hit in the head with a Bludger. Not fun. I passed out for a bit and woke up in the hospital with Oliver Wood sitting by my bedside and a load of bandages wrapped around my hair. We fixed the cut today but I've got a splitting headache; Harry's out getting some potion for me. Oh," she added, "and Harry eventually got to the hospital too, of course, which is probably why they didn't let you in. He wasn't there at first because of Auror business, I guess he had to make sure nothing untoward or illegal happened with the Bludger."

Hermione was silent for a moment as the smell of chicken and vegetables filled the kitchen. "You have the worst luck," she finally said. "You really do." There was another pause; Ginny didn't exactly feel uncomfortable, but she did feel anxious, as if something were coming, although she didn't know what. "Ginny," Hermione began slowly, and instantly Ginny knew this had been the dark thing on her clairvoyant horizon. "I've been meaning to talk to you about Oliver and everything. Don't get on my case," she continued, shutting Ginny's interruption down much as Ginny had done moments before. "I'm just saying it seems that you two have taken to each other. I think that's good for you, Ginny, really. You don't have too many good friends that you can get out and see, honestly, and I know you hate that. But just be careful, you know? He seems a bit more … freewheeling … than Harry. But," Hermione added, shaking her wooden spoon at Ginny, "exactly as freewheeling as you. Even I can see that your personalities line up well. Be careful, Ginny," she finished, turning off the stove with a flick of her wand and levitating the pot and the dishes over to the table. "Make sure you think things through."

Ginny nodded. Hermione was making sense, as she always did, and it seemed disrespectful and unnecessary to disagree with someone who had just made her what smelled like delicious chicken noodle soup.

"That's all I'll say about it, I promise," Hermione said, smiling at Ginny and rubbing her palm over the back of Ginny's hand. "Now let's get some of this soup into you. If we're lucky, maybe we'll finish it before your vacuum cleaner of a boyfriend gets back from the apothecary."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

By Monday, which George had courteously (and unnecessarily, as it turned out) given her off as well, Ginny felt almost perfect. She had taken her leftover headache potion just in case, but the ache in her head had been noticeably absent from the moment she woke up. She spent the day doing housework and wishing, in a rare moment of loneliness, that Harry could have taken off work as well. However, her boredom was relieved in the early afternoon by a knock on the door.

"Two visitors in two days?" Ginny said out loud as she put aside her broom and dusted her hands off self-consciously. "What could we possibly have done to earn this honor?"

Ginny removed the wards, still chuckling, and opened the front door to reveal Ron Weasley on her doorstep. She stepped back, slightly surprised - though she wasn't quite sure why. Ron wasn't only her brother; he was also her boyfriend's closest friend. "Hey," she said, unable to come up with anything more eloquent in her unreasonable surprise.

"Hey," Ron replied, oblivious to any awkwardness as usual. He smiled widely. "Mind if I step in for a mo'? I've only got a few minutes before I have to get back to work. I mean, it probably won't matter much since Harry's the supervisor today, but still."

Ginny smiled back, regaining some of her composure with the soothing familiarity of her brother's voice. "Sure, of course," she said, stepping aside to let Ron through. Ginny closed the door behind him, not bothering to redo the wards. "So what's up, big brother?"

Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned casually against a wall. "Hermione disappeared for a few hours afternoon, and I got sort of worried when she said she'd popped over to your place," he said. "I don't know, it seemed odd for her to visit you on a Sunday afternoon for hours at a time, and I just wanted to make sure sh-" Ron stopped, cutting himself off hastily, with a guilty glance at the floor. "I wanted to make sure things were all right," he finished weakly.

Ginny frowned at her brother. "Things would be better if you weren't always breathing down your poor fiancee's neck," she scolded. "Seriously, Ron, why on earth would you think anything untoward was happening? Hermione's the most trustworthy person I've ever known. I've told her literally everything since I was thirteen and she's never told anyone anything I didn't want them to know. Why on earth would she do anything that you'd need to be worried about?"

Ron sighed slightly. "I dunno, Ginny," he said. "It's stupid, but I've been having a lot of dreams about the … well, the whole Horcrux thing."

Ginny narrowly prevented a sigh from escaping her lips. She knew her brother could be stupid but this was really too much. Hermione had never given Ron (or Ginny herself, for that matter) any reason to believe that she was or could be involved in anything underhanded. "Ron, you know Hermione loves you. Hell, you two have been together for what, five years?" Ron nodded, looking a strange mixture of proud and confused. "Don't sweat it. Especially this time," Ginny added, looking slightly reproachfully at her brother. "Yesterday Hermione came over to visit me, as I'd just gotten out of hospital."

"What?" Ron nearly exploded, ears turning slightly pink. "Why on earth were you in the hospital?" His gaze dropped slightly and he squinted. "Have you got a bun in the oven and didn't tell any of us?"

Ginny laughed. "No, of course not," she said. "Mum's got a sixth sense for babies anyway, so there's no way I'd be able to hide that. No, I went to a Quidditch match with Harry on Saturday and got hit with a Bludger." Sweeping her hair out of the way, Ginny displayed the quickly-fading mark where the Healers had stitched her head up. "I'm fine, before you go worrying."

"I figured you were," Ron replied. "If Harry was at work you couldn't have been hurt too badly. That bloke's mad about you, you know."

"He rarely lets me forget," Ginny said, her voice flat but a wry grin on her face. She wasn't sure which form of expression really conveyed her attitude, but she let that train of thought continue unfollowed. "If that's all you needed, I've still got soup and frozen yogurt left over from yesterday that I'd like to eat."

"Oh, right," said Ron, always one to understand the importance of eating. "Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were all right. Ginny," he hesitated, pausing in the open doorway and turning back to look at his sister, "you're sure everything's all right … between Hermione and I, I mean."

Ginny smiled. "Ron, you and your wife-to-be have no problems to speak of, as far as I'm concerned," she assured him. Really, it was absurd for her brother to be so jealous over his fiancee; Hermione probably didn't even know what attraction felt like outside of Ron. "Now get back to work before Harry gets your arse fired."

Ron grinned. "Thanks, Ginny," he said, and with a swish and a twirl, he was gone.

Ginny sighed. She loved her brother, but sometimes she felt like Hermione might deserve a better model. She was about to go back to her housework when - wonder of wonders - another knock sounded on the door. She frowned, wondering whether it was Ron having forgotten to tell her something. She guessed it wasn't; he probably would have just barged right back in. She opened the door, bizarrely cautious, but it turned out to be Oliver Wood standing on the porch step this time.

Instantly, everything Hermione had said came flooding back to her. Strangely, she didn't care so much; what also came flooding back was the warmth of Oliver's hands and the strength of his arms in the hospital. Ginny found herself blushing as she smiled at her visitor. "Hey," she said, her voice only cracking slightly. She cleared her throat.

"Hi, Ginny," Oliver replied, either oblivious to or ignoring her awkwardness. "I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"How sweet," Ginny said, stepping back so Oliver could come inside. "You didn't have to do that. Although," she added, a thought suddenly occurring to her, "I'm a little curious as to how you knew I lived here."

Oliver chuckled, heading straight to the kitchen and planting himself on a barstool. Normally Ginny was annoyed by that kind of behavior, but when Oliver did it, it seemed strangely comfortable. "It's not exactly a secret that your boyfriend lives here," he said, "and I'd guessed that you too lived together."

"Guessed, huh?" Ginny asked, curiosity piqued.

"Yeah," Oliver said. "You two just move around each other like you're used to it. And the way you talk…" He paused for a moment, breaking eye contact with Ginny for the first time as he searched for words. "Like you've already decided which of you is which, you know?"

Ginny didn't understand what he said on an intellectual level, but somewhere inside her she shivered. Oliver's perception seemed ominous. "Yeah, well, I guess we're pretty used to each other now," she said, forcing lightness. "We've been living together for a few months now."

"Do you like it?" Oliver asked. Ginny was somewhat surprised; most people just smiled and offered platitudes of 'that's so nice' and 'you must be so happy.' Hardly anyone asked her opinion.

"Well, yeah," Ginny said slowly. "Of course. I mean, sometimes it gets a little tricky; Harry and I don't always get along but no couple does. And it's usually pretty nice having such a big house. We sometimes have people stay and that's nice. Sometimes my mum and dad come over for a few nights if they want to shop in London, so I'm really glad I can do that for my parents."

Oliver frowned. "So you're saying the reason you like living with your boyfriend is because you like the house?"

"No, of course that's not it," Ginny said, anger rising in her - or maybe it was embarrassment. Either way it seemed fairly rude of her painting teacher, almost a stranger to her, to come into her house and tell her what was wrong with her relationship. "The sex is great."

Oliver's eyes jerked to meet hers, and Ginny felt her face darkening, this time definitely with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she began, "I didn't mean to say that."

"It's all right," Oliver said, his voice slightly cautious but still friendly, "we're all adults here." There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as Oliver looked at her appraisingly. After a minute or so he finally spoke again. "Anyway, I'm sorry," he said. "The reason I came here was to ask how you were. I'm guessing by the broom I see in the corner over there that you're feeling better. Although," he added slyly, "I notice you're not above cheating George out of a day at work."

Ginny grinned. "He offered it to me," she said. "I'd never want to cheat anyone, much less my brother-cum-boss."

Oliver smiled. The tension had eased. "Well, I don't want to overburden you with my presence, seeing as you'll hopefully be at painting class later," he said, standing again and stretching his neck. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better, and…" He hesitated. Now he looked slightly awkward and Ginny found herself apprehensive once again. "I wanted to make sure I didn't make you uncomfortable in the hospital on Saturday. I know I probably overstepped the student-teacher-slash-casual-acquaintance boundaries a little and … well, Ginny, I frankly don't want to make you uncomfortable," he said in a bit of a rush. "I really like you. I want us to become good friends. I mean, not to sound like some wannabe lover or anything, but I really did feel some kind of connection to you that first day in class. I don't want there to be trouble between us, okay?"

Ginny didn't answer for a moment. A strange feeling had trickled through her when Oliver had said "lover"; it was schoolgirlish, really. She felt warm and cold all over briefly. "Right," she said, when she could finally speak. "Of course. I want us to be friends too."

Oliver had been looking at her expectantly, and at her agreement he broke into a smile. "Thanks, Ginny," he said happily. "I'm really glad to hear it. All right," he added, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, "I'm really getting out of your hair now. Mind if I just Apparate from here?" He didn't wait for a reply and spun quickly, disappearing from the kitchen as suddenly as he had appeared at the front door.

Ginny felt with her hand the warm spot that seemed to be boiling and burning on her cheek where his lips had brushed her skin. It was no more than a whisper, but Ginny could not shake the feeling that something important was going on. She was not looking forward to telling Hermione what had happened.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: The plot is thickening, dear readers! If things may seem abrupt, remember that Ginny probably doesn't understand Oliver quite as well as he understands her- not yet, anyway! Enjoy!-TheGoldenAge<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

As nervous as Ginny was about telling Hermione, it turned out she had a temporary reprieve. When Ginny owled her friend in the early afternoon to ask if she wanted to get dinner before painting class, the response was somewhat surprising.

Ginny,

I'm sorry, I can't make it out tonight. I'm sure you know that Ron and I haven't been having the best of times lately, so I'm spending the evening with him, dinner and all that. Unfortunately, this means I won't be able to get to class tonight either. Tell Oliver I'm sorry, and we'll catch up tomorrow, maybe.

Hermione

Ginny frowned at the missive. Of course when she really wanted to tell Hermione something her brother would be in the way. Sometimes it really felt like he was out to get her. And she was going to have to attend painting class unsupervised. Perfect.

She decided to heat up leftovers from Harry's cooking experience the previous Friday for dinner and left her boyfriend a note about it, just in case he came home hungry.

The rest of the evening seemed to fly by, and before she knew it, Ginny was Apparating to painting class. She was a minute or so late, so she tried to rush without getting flustered as she ran up the stairs. As she came to the door of the classroom, Ginny paused to calm herself and opened the door quietly.

"Sorry I'm-" she began, but she stopped when she saw the almost totally empty classroom. Only Oliver sat in the center, a paintbrush in his hand, which was rather surprising to Ginny. He looked up as she spoke.

"Hey, Ginny," he said, smiling. "I'm glad you could make it; I had a good lesson planned and I didn't want to waste it if no one came to class."

"Well…" Ginny said, "where's Roger? Hermione told me she couldn't make it but I didn't think I'd be the only one here."

"I'm not really sure, to be honest," Oliver said. "I mean, if you don't mind, I can just act like this is a tutoring session or something. It doesn't have to be formal or anything; I was going to give you guys some experience with manual painting this week."

"I thought you said you preferred to use magic," Ginny said as she unbuttoned her jacket.

"Well, yeah," Oliver said, "but I think it was the Stones that told me I couldn't always get what I wanted."

Ginny smiled uncertainly. She didn't know what stones Oliver was talking about, but he didn't seem crazy enough to think real stones could speak. Maybe it was a Muggle thing she didn't understand. "So, should I grab a canvas?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Oliver said. "I'll get you a brush and a palette, and you can share paints with me, if that's all right."

"Yeah, that's fine," Ginny said, pulling a canvas from the corner. She set up an easel next to Oliver's, looking curiously at his painting. The shapes of what looked like a traditional still-life were beginning to appear. "What are you painting?"

Oliver shrugged as he handed Ginny her paintbrush. "I think it's a bowl of fruit, but who knows?"

Ginny laughed, stretching her canvas on her easel. "Don't you plan things before you paint them?"

Oliver shook his head, lifting his palette and streaking the canvas with a dull green. "It never works for me to plan things out," he said. "I like to do things on the very tip of inspiration, if that makes sense. Actually," he added, "I want you to try that. Just try painting whatever comes to your mind. It probably won't turn out very good the first time, but you never know, and practice can help you make really beautiful stuff. So, just grab whatever paints look good and start painting."

Ginny obeyed, choosing colors at random and splashing them onto her palette. She looked around for something to moisten her brush, but she didn't see anything. Glancing at Oliver furtively to make sure his attention wasn't on her, she stuck the bristles in her mouth and sucked them gently before dipping the brush into the paint.

"I saw that," Oliver said, and Ginny splattered a blob of red onto her canvas in surprise. She frowned at her "painting," then at Oliver. "There's nothing wrong with doing that, you know," he added, stifling a smile with some difficulty. "The only funny thing about it was that you seemed so bent on hiding it from me. It's fine to ask me a question if you don't know what you're doing, you know. I am your teacher." Oliver finished this with a wink.

"I can't forget it," Ginny sighed, trying despairingly to fix her painting.

"Don't worry," Oliver said, raising his hand and placing it on Ginny's, stopping her from moving the paintbrush. Ginny felt his hand on hers with more weight than natural; the room grew too hot for her suddenly, and she wanted to loosen her collar. "Just let your painting grow out of the accident."

"Okay," Ginny said, and her voice came out a little higher-pitched than usual. Oliver gave her a strange look, which she met somewhat bravely; or, at least, she did for a moment. Then she went back to her painting.

Ginny wasn't sure how to "fix" what Oliver had done, so she started making rather aimless brushstrokes. She could feel Oliver's eyes on her sometimes, but she did her best to ignore him. At first it was difficult, and she found her painting slow and directionless; however, as she went on and laid more color down on the canvas, Ginny started to feel a sense of purpose. She still didn't know what end she was working towards, but there was something there. She began to paint faster, and Oliver's observation became easier to ignore; in fact, after a while, Ginny lost track of time and place completely. She laid down color after color, reds and greens and whites and yellows and browns.

"Wow, Ginny."

Oliver's voice came from a distance and seemed to go right into Ginny's ear. She jumped, putting another splatter on her painting. Luckily, it was in a corner and didn't seem to obvious, but she still looked up at Oliver, frowning. "You could have done a lot more damage there, you prawn," she said.

Oliver didn't even look up from the canvas. Ginny was puzzled, and she turned to look at her own art, which she'd lost track of in the furor of painting. There, stretched across the taut canvas, was a portrait. Well, sort of. The likeness of a man, blurred and unsteady, sprawled across a chaotic background. The man was posed, one leg stretched out, one bent at the knee, elbow crooked to rest his head on his hand. The colors were wrong; everything was too bright and warm and red for a painting of a person, but that gave it energy. The man's face and body were blurred; the only clear section of the painting was his hands. They were large, strong-looking and painted in a warm tan. Although the identity of the person wasn't clear from the painting, Ginny had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"This is incredible," Oliver said finally. Ginny looked away from the painting, eyes widening for a moment before she controlled herself. "Really, Ginny, I'm so amazed by your talent. You sure you've never painted before?"

Oliver's tone was light, and he smiled as he looked at her. "Yeah, I'm sure," Ginny said, smiling uneasily. She glanced up at the clock, unsure of what to say next. "Oh, Merlin," she said, "why didn't you tell me it was so late? Harry's going to kill me."

"What, is he in charge of you now?" Oliver asked, winking as he took down his unfinished painting and set it up on a shelf. "But seriously, I just didn't want to bother you. You were really into it, and it's only half an hour after class would have ended anyway. I'm not in any rush to leave…" Oliver paused for a moment, and Ginny waited. She had felt more at ease, but now she felt oddly nervous again. She wanted to leave with her painting. "Honestly," Oliver said finally, "I love watching you paint. You're very natural, and you have a great eye. Anyone would love looking at this work. You're going to be better than I am someday. Not that that's saying much," he added, and his tone lightened again. Ginny let out her breath all at once. "Do you want to go grab some dinner? I haven't had anything to eat all night and I'm starving, and since Hermione isn't here, I'm guessing you probably didn't eat before you came."

Ginny grinned, moving her canvas onto another shelf hastily. "You're right," she said. "I guess I'm easier to read than I thought."

Oliver smiled. It was gentle, startlingly so. "I've thought that ever since I met you," he said. "Maybe we're just on the same frequency." Ginny's grin wavered slightly, but she managed to calm her suddenly rapid heartbeat without attracting his attention. "So," he continued, voice back to its normal, booming vibration, "dinner? Or, whatever meal you eat at 9:30 PM?"

Ginny hesitated. Harry's and Hermione's faces whirled through her head, but Harry was probably sleeping, Hermione had ditched her for Ron, and she was pretty hungry. "All right," she said, buttoning her coat. "But I can't be out too late."

"I'll have you home before curfew," Oliver chuckled, winking as he wrapped a scarf around his neck.

Ginny kept a smile on her face while Oliver turned out the lights and locked up after himself as they left the building, but she couldn't help but think about her painting; a painting she knew was of Oliver, whether she had thought about it or not.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

"Well, I have to admit I'm surprised," Ginny said once they were seated. "I had you pinned for a Leaky Cauldron man through and through."

"Lost my loyalty card," Oliver joked, smiling. "No, this place is nice. I've been here a time or two. There's only one waitress who knows me so far, though. I guess Scottish charm isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"I think you're pretty charming," Ginny said before she could stop herself. She thought of Harry, probably at home in bed, alone, and blushed. Unfortunately, Oliver didn't just shrug it off as he usually did.

"I wanted to talk to you about that," he said rather seriously, but just then, a middle-aged waitress approached their table. She took their orders - or rather, her Quick Quotes Quill did, which made Ginny rather anxious about what she would end up receiving for dinner - and walked away with as few words as possible, gum snapping all the while.

Ginny's irrational hopes that Oliver would have forgotten what he was going to say evaporated as he turned to her, eyes particularly dark and intense in the slightly dim restaurant lighting. "Ginny, I'm not the kind of person that likes to hide things," Oliver began. His words were measured, but he didn't seem to have any expectations. He was taking what he said seriously, but Ginny could tell he wasn't anticipating any response in particular. She waited. "I'm sure that personality quirk has helped to make it pretty clear that I'm seriously attracted to you. I've felt a connection to you on an artistic level, of course, but in addition to that - and I'm sure I'm not the only man to tell you this - you're really quite beautiful, Ginny. I'm half-inclined to take you on as a muse in addition to being a student." Ginny forced herself to chuckle lightly, hoping that this was somehow a joke, but when Oliver's expression didn't change but for a slight gentling of his features, her nervous laughter died in her throat.

The waitress returned during this pause with their drinks. Ginny anxiously sipped her water, put it down again, then reached to take another small sip, then set the cup back on the table. As she went for her fourth repetition, Oliver, who had been watching her during the entire conversational standstill, reached out and placed his hand over hers, stopping her jittery movements. Ginny froze. Like before, in the hospital, his hand was warm and solid and made her veins seem to press up against her skin, her blood heating its surface.

"Calm down, bairn." Oliver smiled gently. Somehow, being called a "bairn" seemed to Ginny more kind than rather creepy. "I just want you to know the facts. I'm not trying to get in the way of you and Harry, unless that's where you want me to be. I do find you…" He paused, as if looking for the right word. Ginny was uncomfortably, highly aware of his hand still resting naturally against hers. "Inspirational," he continued. "I'd like to be around you more if I can, but I promise, nothing untoward until you ask for it." He winked again, but his tone was still serious. "Normally, I'd just let these things fade, but I feel differently about you, Ginny. Drawn to you."

Ginny felt her heart sputter slightly as he said her name. It sounded like warm caramel dripping from his lips. It wasn't at all like when Harry said it. She tried to take a breath but her lungs felt crushed and obstructed, so she gave up. She somehow felt she'd survive without air for a little while longer.

"I think the red string of fate has been drawn between us in some way," Oliver added. "Myth used to say that the red string of fate would connect people who were fated to be important to each other, and, although fragile, it would never break. You've made me feel more creative than I have in a long time, and, although I want them to, I don't demand that things change between us. I'm leaving boundaries in our relationship up to you, Ginny."

Finally the air came rushing back into Ginny's lungs. She managed to smile. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she began, "I really can't, but thanks. Thanks for being honest and not just letting there be weird, ambiguous tension between us."

"I have to jump on what I can," he said, his words rushing out to cut her off. "I'm at a serious disadvantage here and all. 'Between us?'" He paused, unsure of how to go on. Ginny realized once again that his hand still rested on hers. That "red string" business had somewhat stalled her brain. "Look, I don't mean to rock the boat here, but I can tell you're at least attracted to me. And I don't expect anything to grow out of that or anything; attraction is natural and if you'd rather stick with your man, I'd understand and I wouldn't even be hurt. But maybe you could tell me right now: do I have any chance at all?"

Ginny thought for a moment. In that moment, the waitress returned, probably for the last time at the stellar standard of service she was adhering to, bringing their dinners with her. "Here," announced the waitress bluntly, setting down Ginny's Alfredo and Oliver's lasagna with a thump. "Enjoy."

"A woman of few words," Oliver remarked wryly. He finally removed his hand from hers and began to cut up his shepherd's pie. Ginny had begun to think she really had come to the Leaky Cauldron. She stirred her soup slowly. It was still her turn to speak, but for a moment she didn't know exactly what to say.

"I don't like long-term plans," she began finally. "When I want to do something with someone, I call them up a few days before. I don't schedule things weeks in advance. Sometimes I don't give them any warning at all. I just do what feels right, or like a good idea. I try to be a little spontaneous. I'm sure you knew that already, though." Oliver's lips quirked around another bite of his food. "So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you have as much of a chance as anyone. I'm with Harry right now, but who knows where I'll be tomorrow? I'm not silly enough to say that Harry and I will be together forever just because we've been together for a long time. As long as you don't blow your chance, I can't say you don't have one." Ginny smiled hesitantly, hoping somehow that things would be clear.

Oliver smiled back warmly. The atmosphere in the restaurant somehow seemed a lot less gloomy now. "Thanks, Ginny," he said. "I appreciate this. And like I said, from now on, I'll still be trying to win you over, but I'm not going to stomp on Harry's ground, and I'm not going to cause you problems. We're whatever you want us to be, as far as I'm concerned."

"And that's the end of it," Ginny said, suddenly feeling like an iron fist was tightening around her stomach as she remembered her painting, lonely and incriminating, in the studio. "So, what else is this place famous for?"


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Ginny," Harry called a few days later. It was a very lazy Saturday morning, and Ginny had selfishly stayed in bed and allowed her boyfriend to make breakfast and coffee. However, at the sound of his voice, she sighed, grabbed her bathrobe, and headed downstairs.

There he was, at the stove, wearing boxers and an apron, cooking eggs. Ginny's mouth watered at the smell wafting through the kitchen - and, if she were honest with herself, probably in part because of the inviting image presented by her boyfriend. She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist, kissing his neck. "Those smell good," she murmured, her throat still fogged by sleep.

"Mmm." The sound came from deep in Harry's throat. "You smell good."

Ginny laughed. "You're being nice," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and moving away to the cabinet. "Want any coffee, dear?"

"As always," Harry replied, setting down the spatula dejectedly and pulling out his wand to turn the eggs. "Why do we even own kitchen implements?"

"If I remember correctly," Ginny said as she filled the urn with water, "it was because you wanted to feel 'at home' here in Grimmauld, which apparently meant making the house as much like your horrid aunt and uncle's place as you could."

"I just wanted more Muggle things," Harry protested. "I hated the Dursley's house, but I did grow up there. I feel more aware of things if there's at least Muggle stuff around, you know?"

Ginny quirked her lips doubtfully, but let the matter rest. She used a spell to quickly heat the coffee urn and it started brewing within seconds.

"So." Harry's voice broke through her morning daze, bringing her back with somewhat of a start from the idly drifting path her brain had been following. "I meant to ask you yesterday but I couldn't seem to find the time…" He paused. Ginny waited, keeping her eyes on the slowly-dripping coffee; she had the feeling Harry was just working up the courage to continue, or fumbling for words. "I wanted to know if you'd be okay with me tagging along to your painting class on Monday."

Ice ran through Ginny's veins. Panicked thoughts swirled around her head; did Harry know somehow about Oliver? He hadn't even been home from work when she got back from dinner, and she hadn't even had a chance to talk to Hermione yet. Ginny tried to subtly take a few deep breaths while simultaneously attempting to look like she was considering the question. "Why would you want to come to some silly class?"

"It's not silly if you like it," Harry replied. His voice seemed light, but Ginny still felt irrationally afraid. "Come on, babe, just let me go with you. I only want to come to one class. I'll just admire your paintings; Oliver says you're really talented. Then I'll leave! I just want to know how you do what you do." Harry smiled at her, and Ginny began to relax slightly. However, his next sentence, spoken somewhat shyly, brought her blood back down to freezing. "Have … have you ever painted a picture of me?"

Ginny laughed nervously, pulling mugs from a cabinet and pouring the coffee, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "Sometimes it's hard to tell what I'm painting," she said. "It just kind of carries you away, you know?"

Harry turned fully around, pausing as he scooped the eggs out of the pan. "You're so beautiful," he said, staring unblinkingly at Ginny. She almost dropped the coffee pot in surprise.

"What?"

"Seriously," Harry said, setting down the eggs and spatula on the counter. "That was, like, one sentence of description and I think you gave me an artistic boner. And you know how little I care about art," he added as Ginny frowned slightly. "Please, babe, let me go to class with you. You can put up with me for a measly hour and a half. Maybe," he added suddenly, "maybe Oliver will still want to go out for dinner, we can get some before class."

Ginny's frown deepened. "Poor guy, playing third wheel to his dating friends," she remarked. She put the coffee urn back on the hot plate and took a sip from her mug. "It can't be fun to be the single guy inviting all his romantically involved friends out on dates."

Harry grinned. "You're making an awful lot of assumptions about all of your painting teacher's other friends," he said. "And you're also avoiding my question."

Ginny sighed. She knew Harry wouldn't forget about anything; he was so annoyingly retentive sometimes. "I'm not avoiding it," she said, taking another swallow of her coffee.

"If you don't want me to come, just tell me," Harry said, his brow furrowing as he finished dishing out the eggs. The two sat down at the table, but neither of them started eating.

"You know that's not true," Ginny said. "I like going places with you. You know what, Harry, if you want to go, then you can go. I just don't want it to be boring for you or anything, it's a ninety-minute class and all."

"Well, if you're going to be annoyed about it, then maybe I just shouldn't go," Harry said, taking a bite of eggs. "I don't want to bother you."

"Babe, don't be like that," Ginny pleaded. "I want you to go. Like I said, I love going places with you."

"You said you 'liked' it," Harry said. "Look, I know that might seem like splitting hairs, but I don't want you to just be kind of happy about being with me, you know? I want things to be as good as they can be between us. I want to make you really happy."

Ginny sat silently, watching Harry watching her. It seemed like the millionth time she had felt like this; frustrated, stuck and, in a way, alone. "I am happy, Harry," she said quietly. "And honestly, don't push your luck, because lately I've been feeling like I could be a whole lot happier."

A terrible quiet and chill fell over the table. Harry stopped eating, stopped moving, possibly stopped breathing. Ginny, on the other hand, was almost panting, as if she had just finished a sprint. She tried to calm down; it was true she had felt that way, but she didn't need to say it so brusquely.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Ginny, you might think I don't pick up on these things, but I know you've been upset lately. I know that I've been working a lot even though I don't have to, I know that I probably haven't been very exciting lately, since I've been busy. And I know that I haven't been making enough effort. That's why I wanted to go to the painting class with you. I want to really know you, Ginny. I want to know what makes you happy, what makes you smile, what makes your eyes light up the way they do sometimes. I love you so much, Ginny, and I want you to be happy with me."

Ginny felt her eyes watering, but she felt more exhausted than sad. She didn't know what to do; all the recent events with Oliver had thrown her into a whirlwind of confusion, and Harry was right; things hadn't been that great lately. But at the same time, Ginny didn't feel like it was worth breaking up over. Exhaling heavily, she reached out and rubbed her fingers over the back of Harry's hand. "I'm sorry, babe," she said. "I know that that's what you're trying to do, I guess I'm just having a tough time lately, what with everything being so quiet for me. You know," she added, slightly less confident than before, "I think it would be a great idea for you to come to painting class with me. Who knows?" Ginny said brightly, lifting a spoonful of eggs, trying to instill some courage in herself. "Maybe you'll turn out to be a better artist than I am."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Ginny said you'd be playing third wheel."

Oliver's and Harry's laughter filled the air in the Leaky Cauldron; while Oliver had surprised Ginny with his choice of restaurant, Harry had decided to play it safe and in familiar territory. Ginny blushed slightly; she had been hoping her little comment might have been forgotten over the past two days. When Harry had owled Oliver inviting him out to dinner with them before her painting class, Ginny had indulged a hope that things would go without a hitch. So far, if this was the worst it got, it looked like her wish would come true.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't find anyone to bring who was as pretty as your girlfriend," Oliver said, winking at Harry but looking at Ginny. Ginny felt her stomach tighten. "I didn't want to embarrass myself."

Harry reached over and put his hand on Ginny's shoulder, rubbing it fondly. "Well, good luck finding one ever," he said, grinning at Oliver, then softening slightly as he looked at his girlfriend. "No one's better-looking than my Ginny."

"Or more talented," Oliver added. He looked at Ginny, and his eyes were somehow reassuring. Ginny didn't understand why for a moment, before she realized that she was irritated. My Ginny. She knew he meant it innocently, and that Harry was just happy they were together, but honestly. How did her painting teacher, practically a stranger, somehow better understood her in some ways than her boyfriend of years. "From what I hear, Ginny's going to show you up at class tonight."

"Most likely," Harry said. "I failed at art class even in primary school, so anyone's better than I am. But you say Ginny is really talented anyway, right?"

"She's the best natural artist I've ever seen," Oliver said sincerely. "Her paintings are pretty good for anyone, and excellent for someone who's never had experience."

"You're both far too nice about my meager paintings," Ginny said, smiling. "Oliver's much better than me."

"You've hardly seen anything I've painted!" Oliver laughed, sipping his beer. "Wait until Harry sees some of my work; he'll love you even more knowing you've managed to avoid my loutish painting style."

Harry laughed, but Ginny felt her insides turn cold. She thought of the night of the first class, the painting that Oliver had made of her. She hadn't thought about it in a while, but suddenly she could remember every detail of her portrait. Harry and Oliver were talking about something, but their voices seemed strangely blurred. Ginny stood up abruptly.

"I think I'm going to pop into the loo for a moment," she said, trying to keep her voice solid. "Be right back."

Once Ginny had managed to find her way to the bathroom, she leaned on the cleanest-looking of the sinks and took several deep breaths, gulping air in quickly and letting it all out at once. What the hell was going on? True, Ginny had never been known for her imperturbable constitution, but she wasn't one to let romantic entanglements phase her. But now that Oliver had made his feelings clear…

Ginny took another breath, turning to look at herself in the small mirror hanging over the sink. Maybe the problem was that she had never been the conflicted one before. She'd always known who she liked; true, she had dated Michael and Dean while she was infatuated with Harry, but she had known why she did what she did. Now that she was unsure of her feelings for her boyfriend, Oliver had come in at the worst time. He was exciting and interesting; he understood things about her that no one else had ever understood. He got her desire to travel, he got her need for freedom. Harry didn't understand. It hadn't bothered her before… Or so it seemed. Maybe it had, and she just hadn't noticed because she didn't have any other options.

Ginny frowned at her reflection. Maybe now wasn't the best time to be having an internal battle over the men that came waltzing into her life and ruining things without a second thought for her well-being and peace of mind. Resolving to make it through the dinner and class alive, she sucked in another deep breath and left the bathroom, and hopefully her anxiety, behind.

"Okay, guys," Oliver announced once everyone was gathered in the studio. He had allowed Harry to sit slightly behind Ginny, closer than he usually let students sit, and her boyfriend was perched on a stool, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dividing his attention between Ginny and Oliver. "Tonight we're going to do brushwork. I know," he continued as Ginny and Hermione exchanged irritated glances, "I said I think it's pointless, but I meant that it was pointless for me. You people are new. You need experience and practice. Ginny tried it last week and loved it, I promise."

"Er, yeah," Ginny said, seeing Roger and Hermione facing her incredulously. "It was actually good."

"See? That enthusiastic testimony should convince all of you," Oliver said, grinning. "So grab canvases, paints, palettes, and one of the brushes that I brought in specifically for tonight's work, and get going!"

Throughout the next ninety minutes, Ginny found it difficult to concentrate on her painting. She wasn't sure why; true, part of the problem was definitely the pressure of Harry watching over her shoulder. But another aspect of the problem that surprised her was the fact that she didn't have Oliver to begin things. Last week, he had been right by her canvas to give her the red blur of a catalyst, right there to help her creativity flow. Now she couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was avoiding her; through surreptitious glances, she observed Oliver spending twenty minutes straight next to Roger's canvas, and another thirty-five next to Hermione's. He merely paused by Ginny's, looking it over briefly and then moving on. He even spoke to Harry for a few minutes.

When at last the ninety minutes were up, Oliver had everyone show their unfinished canvases. Roger, Hermione, and Ginny had all painted still life images of things around the studio: Ginny a group of stools, Hermione a palette and brushes, and Roger an unusual grouping of finished paintings stacked on a shelf. Everyone was saying their goodbyes, putting away their paintings, and buttoning their coats when suddenly, Oliver spoke.

"Harry, I thought you might like to see Ginny's painting from last week."

Before Ginny could turn around, her face horror-stricken, Harry had already agreed, and she heard the sounds of rummaging. When she faced the men, Oliver was holding out her canvas to Harry; the painting seemed to be even more obviously a portrait of Oliver.

"Oh, my God."

The voices were so close together that no one could tell whether Harry or Ginny had spoken.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ginny prepared for bed in silence. She took her hair out of its bun and put her pajamas on in the bathroom, looking for time alone to plan how to get out of whatever she'd gotten herself into. There was no way Harry could have confused that painting for anyone else. Why in hell had Oliver even shown it? He had to know…

Ginny's train of thought ground to a halt abruptly. She met her own eyes in the bathroom mirror; Oliver had never promised to fight fair. Was he the kind of person who would do something to deliberately ruin her relationship to get a chance? She had admired his honesty initially but now it just seemed to be ruining things.

Then she tried to pause her thoughts again. It could be that he was just so enthused about art in general that he'd wanted to show off his pupil's work, right? Ginny frowned at the mirror. That didn't seem likely, but that was probably because she was mad. She thought about everything that had happened over the past few weeks, the Quidditch game, all the weird painting classes, drinking, dinner… Would a person who had invested that much time in such a short period really want to mess with the status quo already?

Ginny sighed, winding floss around her finger and tearing it from the container. She wanted to ask Oliver about it, but she didn't want him to work it around into another excuse for them to meet up. Maybe a note? Ginny frowned again. She wouldn't necessarily feel like a note was apropos at this point in their friendship, but he'd already written her a memo about the Quidditch game. Could she write it while Harry was at work? Maybe while she was at work?

Ginny froze mid-gargle. She spat in the sink, feeling a cold squeeze in her stomach. Was something this stupid making her think about hiding things from her boyfriend? True, things with Harry hadn't been perfect lately, but she'd never expected - or wanted - a perfect relationship. Come to think of it, the real problem with Harry could have been that things were too close to perfect. Maybe a fight would stir things up.

Briefly, Ginny considered just sending the note openly, without trying to be subtle about it, to conjure up an argument with Harry. Then she remembered that she most likely had a real fight waiting for her outside the bathroom door. Heaving one more sigh, Ginny turned out the lights and went to the bedroom.

All the lights were out. Ginny could see Harry's form in the bed silhouetted against the light from the window, but she couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. She climbed into bed gingerly, trying not to disturb the sheets too much - or her boyfriend.

"So." Harry's voice broke through the silence of the bedroom, hitting Ginny almost physically. "Oliver was right. You're a really good painter."

Ginny lay on her back, frozen, barely able to breathe. Something had sounded off about the way Harry forced out the painting teacher's name, but that could just be the raw panic sweeping through Ginny. Why was she so scared? She hadn't done anything wrong; was she afraid of being caught? Was she afraid that Harry might think something was wrong between them?

Or was she afraid he might know?

"Thank you," she said stiffly, pushing the words through her lips. "I haven't had much practice, but Oliver's been helpful. And I've been looking at paintings online and stuff, so maybe that's helping."

Harry was quiet for another minute. Ginny thought about continuing to babble to fill the silence, but she thought better of it and instead concentrated on breathing steadily. Finally he spoke again.

"So what was the painting Oliver showed me?"

Five separate answers flew into Ginny's mind at once. Sorting through them, she opted to tell the truth. "Well, you know, one thing Oliver always told us was paint what's in front of you. He always talks about seeing art everywhere. So, you know, last week when it was just me at class-"

Ginny felt Harry tense, and she abruptly remembered that she hadn't told Harry that she'd been alone with Oliver in class. Damn it. She decided to continue, hoping he hadn't noticed the brief pause. "-he was really pushing me to go with it. He splattered some red on my canvas by accident and told me to work around it, to just go with things. So I tried to. Oliver was right in front of me, and so I guess I just painted him. I told you earlier, sometimes painting is just a natural, unconscious thing more than anything else."

There was a long pause. Ginny waited again; she could feel the skin on her feet prickling, as she hadn't moved them in minutes. Finally, Harry sighed and rolled over so he was facing her.

"Ginny, I trust you," he said, "but I don't trust Oliver. I wasn't totally honest with you at the hospital, in the sense that I didn't even tell you this had happened, but after we had gotten medical help for you, Oliver said something to me that I rather admired him for initially. Now I'm not so sure how I feel about it, but anyway, here it is: 'Harry,' he said, 'your girlfriend is far more like me than she is like you.'" Ginny almost chuckled from the sheer bluntness of the moment. It was so like Oliver, she was learning, to do something like that; and, he was right. They were alike. "'I've got a much better chance than you have in the long run,'" Harry, speaking as Oliver, continued, "'and I'm going to try to take it. I may not play fair, but if I step over a line that offends both of you, tell me and I'll step back.'"

He fell silent, and Ginny saw a window of opportunity open in her mind. Harry was basically at once permitting and encouraging her to confront Oliver about everything. "All right, babe," she said, adding the term of endearment as a last-minute gamble, "I'll talk to him about it when I see him again."

The bedroom was silent again, but under the sheets, Ginny felt a hand tentatively slide over and stroke hers until she fell asleep.

* * *

><p>AN: I know things might seem slow, but to be honest that's how I planned this story! I dislike reading romance stories where there is a parallel actionsuspense type storyline that seems tacked on, and I wasn't sure if I could combine the genres well so I decided to tell the kind of story that any of us could experience. I won't be hurt if you stop reading if this isn't what you're looking for. Thank you so much for reading and thanks for sticking with me thus far!-TheGoldenAge


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Hermione, I need a favor." Ginny could hear her friend laughing over the phone as she cradled her mobile between her jaw and shoulder, and she silently begged any powers-that-be that might have been listening that Hermione was just in a good mood rather than a dismissive one.

"Well, I should say you do," Hermione said finally, coughing slightly. Ginny felt that this was a rather overdramatic touch, but she let it slide in the interests of getting what she needed. "Harry told me about the Oliver fiasco - something you didn't do, by the way."

"I'm sorry," Ginny pleaded, trying to juggle her phone and her lunch without dropping either. "I just didn't know whether Harry would want me discussing stuff that we hadn't worked out personally yet."

"Mmhmm," Hermione said, and her voice was laden with skepticism. "While that's never stopped you before, I'll ignore it and pretend that you've suddenly grown several considerate bones in your small and occasionally thoughtless body."

Ginny sighed loudly enough for Hermione to hear her, but otherwise chose not to respond. Her friend did have a point, even if she did put it a little harshly.

"So, what's your favor?" Hermione asked when the moment of silence was over. "I hope it's something to do with the intrigue that has enveloped you ever since I dragged you to that art class. Which, by the way, I'm considering dropping out of, as I don't want to be forced to choose a side between Harry and you based on incriminating evidence I may or may not witness in the future."

"I now need two favors," Ginny said. "First is don't quit, but the second one is more involved. I need you to find out where Oliver is right now. It's probably work, so I guess find where he works during the day. Does he have a studio or what?"

"You think I can just do this sort of thing?" Hermione asked, and although her voice was somewhat muffled by the ambient static of the mobile, Ginny could still hear her exasperation.

"I was hoping, since you're in the legal department and also you're incredible, that maybe you could whip some kind of information out of nowhere," Ginny wheedled, trying to sound more like an admiring fan than a friend who was asking for a huge favor.

It worked. Hermione was silent for a moment, although the sound of shuffling crackled over the wires, but when she spoke again it was in a more mollified tone. "You're the luckiest girl alive to have a friend like me," she said. "His studio is registered for a permit to practice magic, despite being in a Muggle area, and the address is right here. Do you need a piece of paper to take it down?" she added snarkily.

"Oh, no," Ginny said, hastily swallowing the last of her lunch and dumping her napkins in a nearby bin, "I'll just Apparate."

When Ginny arrived at the door of the third-floor studio apartment Hermione's information had led her to, she had planned on barging in and directly confronting Oliver, but when she burst through the door, he didn't even turn around. There was an enormous canvas stretched in front of him, and dozens of colorful orbs floated through the air. It was painfully obvious that Oliver was painting with magic, and Ginny couldn't bear to interrupt and leave her curiosity unsatisfied.

Oliver was using wandless magic as far as Ginny could tell, and he directed the orbs around his canvas, allowing them to touch it periodically, leaving their colors swathed across the surface. It looked unplanned, but Ginny knew better than to doubt Oliver's talent. She was lost in observation for an indeterminate amount of time before she pulled herself together with a small shake and finally spoke up.

"What the hell were you thinking?" It didn't come out as madly as she'd intended, but it still should have been surprising.

But Oliver didn't even flinch. "I was wondering when you were going to get here," he said, still with his back turned to her. He manipulated the paint spheres until they were deposited into what were presumably the cans they had come from, then turned to face her. "I told you, Ginny, I want what Harry has. I'm not afraid of doing everything until you tell me I crossed a line."

"Harry told me what you said at the hospital," Ginny said, voice slightly clipped. "I just think you need to be more respectful, you know? Harry really laid into me over that painting." Okay, so he hadn't really, but Ginny was hoping this might incite some guilt in Oliver's heart of hearts.

Not so. In fact, positively the opposite. Oliver looked down at Ginny for a moment, his eyes inscrutable, before speaking. "Why did you paint it then?" he asked. "If you knew he was going to have a problem with it, why bother painting it?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Really? You tell me to find art in everything, and then ask me why I painted my art teacher?" As she was talking, she realized she was starting to lose her words as they slipped out, and although she tried, she couldn't stop the next bit that came out of her mouth. "You're beautiful. I've imagined what you look like under everything, and I like it. Artistically, aesthetically, you're perfect for painting. Getting you on that canvas felt good. You're my teacher, I wanted to follow what you said. Harry just wouldn't understand that, you know, he's not artistic… Honestly, neither am I, or neither was I, but you brought it out. I had to honor that. I honored it with a painting. I wasn't thinking about Harry, I wasn't thinking about you, I was just…"

Ginny trailed off, finally catching up to her words and biting them off when she regained control of her mouth and brain, but it seemed that she'd already struck something in Oliver. He looked down at her silently, really looking at her, almost making her feel uncomfortable, but she met his eyes as bravely as she could.

Oliver lifted his hand slowly, as if Ginny was an animal that he could frighten by making a sudden movement, and, truth be told, Ginny felt herself like that's what she was. He placed his fingers against her cheek, and she felt paint smear over her skin, creating a thin barrier between Oliver's fingertips and the planes of her face. The paint was wet and cold, but the heat of his skin seeped through, leaving what felt like tangible marks on her face. She thought about pulling away, she thought about Harry at home, but her thoughts seemed somehow faded and blurred around the edges. She parted her lips, trying desperately to suck more air into her suddenly solidified lungs, but none seemed to come. When she didn't pull back, Oliver's fingers pressed a little more firmly against her face, sliding over her cheekbones and twining into the hair over her ears. He pulled her forward almost imperceptibly, leaning down slowly, his questioning eyes darting between her eyes and her lips, waiting for her to pull back, to spurn him.

Ginny didn't. She didn't know why she didn't, but she felt frozen, shocked into stillness and somehow curious for what would happen next. She could feel Oliver's breath hitting her lips, drifting into her still-slightly open mouth; he was a whisper away. She still hadn't moved, but she felt a jolt of energy hit her suddenly. She expected herself to pull back, to walk right out the door and go home and endlessly spin out "what could have been"s with Hermione, but instead she leaned forward. It was a tiny movement, but it was all it took to bring her lips and Oliver's together.

There was a moment where neither of them moved, or even breathed. Oliver's lips were warm and open against Ginny's, and his hand still rested against the side of her head. If there was any sound in the room, or in the world, Ginny couldn't hear it.

And then suddenly, everything was moving very quickly. Oliver's lips moved against hers, not softly like Harry's, but more firmly and quickly. His hand tightened in her hair and his other one snaked around to press low on her back. As if she'd woken up from a dream in a strange position, Ginny suddenly found that her arms were around Oliver's neck, one hand gently tightening around the hairs at the nape of his neck, the other resting against his shoulder blade. The kiss heightened, but did not deepen, and the room seemed to be getting hotter and hotter, so hot that Ginny could barely stand it…

And then suddenly, she pulled back. It was too much, the air was too hot and dry. She felt his hand tug at her hair when, surprised, he didn't let go in time. His other arm slid easily from her waist, however, and he stepped back, confusion in his eyes. Ginny panted for a moment, her breath seeming to enter and leave her body without filling her lungs.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Oliver, his own breathing seeming far louder than usual.

Ginny was speechless for a moment, trying to get her breathing under control, trying to make sense of her crazed emotions and trying desperately, more than anything else, to pull together an answer to Oliver's question.

However, when she spoke a moment later, all she could muster was, "I have no idea."

* * *

><p>AN: I'm sure I'm saying what we're all thinking here: FINALLY, right? :) I hope you all enjoyed this chapter- I certainly loved writing it, and I'm posting it early because I'm just so excited! Thanks for sticking with me, and hopefully there will be a few more steamy scenes between Oliver and Ginny in the future. ;)-TheGoldenAge<p> 


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Frustrated, Ginny ran her hands through her hair yet again. She was starting to feel as though it would start pulling from her scalp at any time now; the levels of stress she'd reached in the last five minutes were ones she'd thought impossible before. Oliver sat staring at the same spot on the wall that he'd been looking at for the past three minutes.

"Help me!" Ginny practically shouted, another wave of frustration spiking through her. "What have we done? What does it mean? What do we do now?"

Oliver turned to face her, finally. "We could do it again," he said, his eyes twinkling slightly but his tone serious. "Really, Ginny, I don't know what you want me to say. That definitely didn't lessen whatever it is that I'm feeling about you."

Ginny frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, what is it you're feeling?" she asked. "If you don't even know then maybe you should just leave me alone."

"No," Oliver said simply. "I don't need to know what exactly it is I feel. I don't need to put a label on it. I just know I want to spend more time with you, and, if it ever becomes okay, I want to keep kissing you. I already told you I'm after you, Ginny. I'm not a quitter."

"Well, I'm a labels kind of girl," Ginny huffed. "Harry's my boyfriend, I'm in love with him, and you're my pushy painting teacher, and, while I think you're charming and, yes, attractive, I barely even like you at this point."

Oliver stood up. "I don't think you really are the kind of person who likes labels," he said. "But, even if you are, by the end of this painting class, you won't be. Art can't be labeled. All my work is untitled. And," he added, "although I know it's pretty cocky of me to say this, I really do think it'll help with the way you look at relationships, too. It helped me."

"Sorry, but I'm not really interested in relationship advice from someone who seems hell-bent on ruining my relationship," Ginny snapped. "Honestly, I don't feel like taking painting advice from you anymore. It'll be a miracle if I stay in your goddamn class."

Oliver dropped her gaze again, looking back at his unfinished canvas. "I understand that," he said slowly, "but I wouldn't do that if I were you. In fact, I'm asking you not to. Please don't let something I did ruin your chance. You're talented, Ginny," he continued. "I know it, you know it, and I guess you could find another teacher, but I think all the tension between us will help you."

"You're pulling things out of your arse now," Ginny interrupted, pointing at him as if that would emphasize her point. "That's just horse shit to make me stay in your class, this 'tension' crap is unbelievable."

"I'm not joking," Oliver said. "You probably know by now I'm not a liar. I don't hide things. I'd be willing to step back if you wanted if you'd let me keep helping you manage your talent."

"Fuck off," Ginny said, a mirthless chuckle escaping her throat. "You said that before, and guess what happened? We kissed! That's not stepping back. That's home-wrecking, or it will be when I tell my boyfriend."

Oliver stayed silent.

"Nothing?" Ginny said, voice edgy. She didn't need or want any more complications in her life, and Oliver seemed like nothing more than one large complication. "Fine. It's been nice having you trying to ruin my life a few weeks after you stormed back into it, but I'm out of here. I'm going home to my boyfriend, and we're going to have mind-blowing sex, and I'm going to forget about you."

Okay, so maybe the mind-blowing sex bit had been a little too much information, but in the wake of her impassioned declaration, Ginny was still too self-satisfied to be embarrassed. She straightened her coat and turned for the door, ready to sweep out dramatically, when suddenly, she paused. She thought about how much she'd enjoyed exploring painting, how beautiful the painting had been for her … And, begrudgingly, she thought about how interesting things had been since Oliver had entered her life. She thought about how warm his hands felt and how firm his lips had felt, so briefly, on hers…

Jerking her mind from this dangerous direction of thought, she returned to the safety of art. Could she really abandon her newfound passion for painting just because someone had kissed her? And she had enjoyed it? added an annoying whisper in the back of her mind. Maybe that was really the problem; Ginny had enjoyed the kiss. She had wanted to experiment, to take things deeper. Oliver represented to her everything Harry was not, and she wanted to experience new things. Painting had opened her eyes, it had expanded her magic…

"Stay here."

Oliver's voice broke through Ginny's musings. He had obviously heard that she hadn't left yet, but somehow he knew exactly when to interrupt. Half-unwillingly, still wanting that dramatic exit, Ginny turned back to face her painting teacher, a look of disbelief on her face. "What?"

"Stay here for a while," Oliver repeated. "I'm doing a painting with magic, and I want you to see what you'll be missing if you leave. After I'm finished, I'll feel like you're really making an informed decision, but I don't want to let you walk away without knowing exactly what I'm going to teach you."

Ginny considered for a moment. She had just been thinking about her painting and her magic, as they'd already started to work together, and it did seem reasonable to figure out whether it was worth it to stay in the class and learn more. She sighed quietly; if only her resolve could be as strong as her curiosity. Or maybe if only her resolve to be curious wasn't so strong. "Fine," she said, undoing her coat, "I'll stay and watch."

"You'll stay in the class, too," Oliver said, and his voice was closer to its usual lightness as he began to pull the orbs from the paint cans again.

Ginny sat on a chair that seemed thrown behind the canvas. "You should be so lucky," she said, chuckling reluctantly. Oliver began the process again, the orbs swirling around his head, splattering the canvas periodically. Once in a while, the orbs whirled a little too close to Ginny's head for her comfort and, as she flinched out of the way, she thought she saw Oliver's lips twist briefly into a grin. However, as he began to get further into the painting, his concentration began to deepen. The orbs spun faster and faster in circles that grew tighter and tighter, striking the canvas one after the other in a blur that Ginny could barely follow. She was transfixed by the process, and when she finally blinked and looked at her watch, almost an hour had gone by. Just as she was about to remark on how she'd better be getting home, Oliver almost shouted, "There!" He stepped back from the painting, and instantly, almost all that was left of the orbs dropped unceremoniously to the ground, splashing all over Oliver - and his floor.

The room was silent for a minute. Ginny stared at the mess, open-mouthed, while Oliver looked at her, momentarily just as surprised. Without warning, they both broke out laughing; Ginny practically fell of her chair when she caught sight of the faces Oliver evolved through in his reaction to the mess.

"You were right," she said a few minutes later after she'd done some courtesy Scourgify-ing, "I'm staying in the class."

"I knew you would," Oliver said, smiling and revealing one paint-spattered tooth. Ginny lifted her wand to it and quickly undid the damage. "Thanks," he added. "Thanks for sitting with me too; it isn't often I have company in the studio. It's even less often that I want it."

"Flattered," Ginny said, grinning back at him. "Honestly, it was a treat. I liked how it turned out; your color work is amazing."

"I'm getting quite good in my old age," Oliver replied, winking. "I hope you're not mad anymore," he added, "because I'm going to hug you goodbye now."

And with that brief warning, he did. His arms felt warm and strong, as ever, wrapped around Ginny's waist. She tried to balance her reciprocation between politeness and decorum, but she found herself drawn into his embrace and very comfortably rested her head against the plane created right below his shoulder. "See you later, Ginny," he said, and she clung briefly to the rumble in his chest before stepping back and cinching her scarf a little tighter.

"Bye, Oliver," she said, and, still dying for her dramatic exit, added just before Apparating, "You're still on probation."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

For the next month, Ginny managed to hide her secret from everyone. Not even Hermione knew what had happened between her and their painting teacher; as the days grew colder, Ginny could feel the heat of her inner turmoil growing hotter as her thoughts churned over and over. George was spending more time at home now that Alicia had returned from Africa, and Ginny was happy to throw herself into more shifts at the joke shop. Externally, it seemed that her relationships with Harry and Oliver had calmed down, but inside - and this she had confessed to a surprisingly non-judgmental Hermione - she felt that things were worse than ever. She and Harry had settled into a routine of kissing in the morning before Harry left for work, maybe having dinner together a few times over the week, and having sex whenever the unspoken ennui became too strong for them to fight.

With Oliver, on the other hand, things seemed to be swirling in a vortex of sexual tension. He'd been excellent about respecting their boundaries, seeming to sense that pushing things wouldn't work in his favor, although Ginny had lately been wishing he would force some kind of confrontation. However, every innocent contact they shared seemed, to Ginny at least, charged with unreleased and unacknowledged energy. Once, during a particularly intense introductory session of magical painting, Oliver had wrapped his hand around hers to guide her and Ginny thought she might have passed out. His presence, always so warm and strong, seemed to hover around her no matter where she was. And she'd thought about the kiss.

Oh, how she had thought about their kiss.

The inner strain she had been feeling had reflected itself in her intimacy with Harry. The passion was gone, although Harry's technique had never been something to complain about. Things didn't seem to be working as well between them, whether in the bedroom or at the dinner table. Harry didn't seem to have noticed; Ginny did nothing to bring it up, afraid that she might end up saying something she'd regret if it came to a fight.

And so, the days ticked by. Sometimes they seemed to crawl and sometimes Ginny felt as though she'd blinked and a week had passed. Living from class to class, workday to workday was something she didn't enjoy.

So, it was with some joy mixed in with her surprise that she got a note from Dennis Creevey, with whom she'd worked at the Daily Prophet all that time ago.

Hi, Ginny. How's things?

I know this is a bit out of the blue considering that I've rudely not spoken to you since we stopped working together (in the sense that we corresponded occasionally over your Curse Breakers piece), but something's come up at work that I thought you'd be interested in.

Okay, I didn't come up with it on my own. I happened to be talking about it with one of my friends in the Magical Law Enforcement office and he said that Hermione Granger recommended I talk to you about it. I wish I could take credit for this nigh-unbelievable coincidence.

Ginny paused a moment to let her combined trepidation (at Hermione's involvement) and amusement (at Dennis' unnecessarily elevated diction) sink in properly. Hermione had been somewhat at a distance lately, at least comparative to her past behavior. Ginny suspected it was because she'd been behaving well, not flirting with Oliver, not making plans on her own, having dinner with Harry when she could. Hermione's friendship didn't wax and wane with the level of drama in Ginny's life, but her direct involvement and interference did.

Sighing, wishing she could put it off longer but not sure of a solid reason to ignore Dennis' letter, she continued reading.

The boss has passed down an assignment, tentatively a photojournalistic piece dealing with ancient wizard artists around the globe. It reminded me of your Curse Breaker assignment and that's what initially put the thought into my head. Your work is so in-depth, yet accessible, and we'd love to have you back! I hear you're a committed woman now, though, so if you can't get away, I'd understand.

Ginny frowned. A "committed woman"? It made her sound like an inmate.

If you'd like more details so you can think it over, let me know and maybe we can meet for lunch or drinks somewhere. I really am sorry for being such a bad person as far as this nipped-in-the-bud friendship is concerned.

Regards,

Dennis Creevey

Already things seemed to be looking up. Ginny was sure George would be willing to give her the time off, particularly if she sweetened the deal by training a replacement. Art was quickly becoming one of her main interests, so there would be no problem finding interesting pieces, and a photography component just made life that much better. Perhaps she could do a six part series, one for each continent's worth of wizarding art…

Her head already swimming with ideas, Ginny froze as she made to Floo Hermione and thank her.

Harry.

What on earth would she do about him? She knew he'd be insulted if she went without him, and he'd probably be nervous about her traveling on her own, but she couldn't… She couldn't take him with her. It felt wrong. He would be bogging her down; Harry didn't understand art.

Maybe she needed to consider things more carefully. She could discuss things with Hermione and then bring the issue up to Harry, to see what his reaction was. That would be a good start.

Quelled, she calmly wrote an affirmative response to Dennis, tentatively setting plans for Wednesday of that week. As the delivery owl flew out the window with a letter in its beak and a treat of reward in its mouth, Ginny sat down at the table. Things were changing. She could feel it; she didn't know how, or even what was happening, but everything that had been put in motion by starting this damned painting class was coming to a head. The storm clouds gathering over her and her relationships would soon erupt; she just knew it.

* * *

><p>AN: Hi, everyone! Just so you all know, I'm heading back to university next week so there may not be the regular update, but I'll do my best! Ginny's right; everything is coming to a head, and the end of this story is just barely in sight. Thank you all for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy what is beginning to look like the final chapters of this labor of love.-TheGoldenAge<p> 


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"So, we've got a job for you," Dennis said, "and it looks like a good one."

Ginny poked at her salad, something she only ordered when she was out with someone she didn't know very well. "Lay it on me, Dennis," she said. "It's been a while since I did any photography."

"Hermione said you'd been taking an art class," he countered. "Maybe you haven't been taking photos, but you have been in the area. Anyway," he continued, "we want to do a series on international wizarding art, past and present. It's going to be a long assignment collecting information; we want to send you out for a year. But…" Dennis looked sly. "I hear you're a kept woman now. You might not want to go and rough it."

If it wasn't for the barely-hidden laughter in Dennis' voice, Ginny would have smacked him. "Shut your mouth," she chuckled, pointing her fork at him threateningly. "Is the Prophet paying for the trip?"

"We'll give you a stipend," Dennis said, slicing neatly through his fish. "It doesn't sound like much now, but I'm sure you could talk to Colin about the photography section ponying up a few more Galleons for you."

"I'm sure whatever will be fine," Ginny said. "As long as traveling expenses are covered I don't think it'll be a problem. I don't like living very large on the road."

Dennis frowned slightly. "Won't you be traveling with Harry?" he asked. "I mean, not that we won't be happy to cover your travel expenses, of course, but you seem a little concerned about paying your fare over Portkey stations and whatnot."

"Can't I use Muggle travel ever?" Ginny asked petulantly. "Like boats or trains. And no, I don't think I'm going to travel with Harry at all. He doesn't really get art, if you know what I mean."

Dennis nodded. "Good," he said. "Now, the dates as far as when we'd like you to leave are open, somewhat, and you'll probably spend a year abroad, so we want you to have time to set everything in order. Maybe Harry can come visit you in some beautiful, exotic location or something. I wouldn't want to ruin your marriage."

Ginny choked on a sip of her wine. Setting her glass down, she coughed again before croaking, "We are not married." She waved her bare left hand around in front of Dennis' face, raising her eyebrows. "I don't know why you're so convinced that Harry and I are inseparable."

"Sorry for believing in love," Dennis chortled. "Working in journalism has given me rather a hankering for happiness."

Ginny laughed too. "You're mad, you are," she said. Pausing, she felt the smile fade from her face slightly. "Honestly, Dennis, I think things are moving toward the end with Harry and I. I'm not the kind of girl for long-term things, you know?"

Dennis rolled his eyes, and Ginny appreciated his lightness. "Don't I know it," he said. "You do a few great assignments for us, and then, just as we're ready to give you a permanent column, you take off and never call us again."

"Sometimes I wish I'd stuck around," Ginny said ruefully. "That job was great for me, I just knew Harry wouldn't be happy if I were always traveling around and things. He wouldn't have wanted to go with me; he loves being an Auror and living here in England."

"Maybe it's just that you two are too different," Dennis offered, finishing off his chips. "Not that I'm at all qualified to offer relationship advice, but my girlfriend and I get along because we're both interested in the same stuff. If she wanted to travel, I'd of course be fine with it, and I'd probably annoy her to no end with asking to come along."

Ginny chuckled with Dennis, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. She needed to talk to Hermione. She had to tell her what had happened a month ago, what was happening now. Suddenly, she wanted to be as far away from the too-perceptive Dennis as she could possibly get. Shuffling through her purse, she fished out her pocket schedule and pretended to double-check something. "Damn," she said. "Dennis, I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have to cut this off short. I go into work earlier than I thought and George is going to need me."

Dennis grinned knowingly. "All right," he said. "I'll eat a bit faster and Apparate you over to the shop. But," he added more seriously, "think about it. I can tell you need a change, Ginny."

As her front door closed behind her, Ginny finally breathed a sigh of relief. George had been surprised to see her, but after Dennis had left, she had explained the situation and he'd gotten a laugh out of it. Briefly, she hoped that Harry would take her news about the job as well. She realized as she raised the ward on the door that she'd made her choice without even speaking to Harry - or to anyone - about the opportunity. Thinking she probably deserved some interesting news in her life, Ginny decided to call Hermione.

"Well, look who it is!" Hermione said, white noise crackling in the background. "Things have been rather dull without your intrigues lately."

"I know," Ginny said apologetically. "I've done my best to bring you a really good one this time; I think you'll probably faint."

"Then maybe you should wait to tell me," Hermione said, "as I'm on my way back to work. I've just had a bit of air; it's been a rather interesting day for me."

"Should you perhaps tell me first?" Ginny asked. "That way you'll be more steeled against fainting."

"I think I'll tell you at our next Weasley get-together. Which, by the way," Hermione added, "Ron's going to call soon. So you don't have to worry about waiting in suspense."

"I'll do my best to be strong," Ginny said sarcastically, and she heard Hermione's ill-disguised snort in response. "Well, are you quite ready to hear my news yet?"

"Are you pregnant?" asked Hermione rather abruptly.

Ginny frowned. "No," she said. "At least, not that I know of. Why do you ask?"

"We've just been waiting to hear it is all," Hermione said. "You've both been so quiet and calm lately that I think everyone just assumed you were doing the 'glowing with happiness' thing in your own quiet and restful house."

Ginny laughed. "I'm not even sure I know what that means," she said. "In any case, I'm not pregnant. But…" She paused for a moment, trying to draw out the suspense and rattle Hermione a bit, but her friend didn't speak. "I am going round the world again!"

There was a silence that made Ginny feel uncomfortable; maybe she shouldn't have said anything, just left in a month or so without any word. "You're the first person I've told," she added, trying to elicit a response out of Hermione.

Her friend's laughter rang out over the phone. "Ginny, darling, you don't need to pacify me," she said, "and I know that's what you're trying to do, so don't argue. That's wonderful! Is it with the Prophet again?"

"Yes," Ginny said, "which I'm sure you knew, since Dennis told me you tipped him off about how interested I suddenly am in art."

"Well, maybe I did a little," Hermione admitted. "I thought you would love the assignment, and I couldn't just let it go to someone unqualified. You're much better for the job, you know. And," she added, "now that you've got Harry to go with you, I'll feel much better about you being in all those dangerous cities."

Another silence, this time on Ginny's end. She should have anticipated this; why on earth did everyone assume that she would take Harry with her? Probably because you live together, said a very reasonable voice in her subconscious. "Hermione," Ginny said slowly, "I don't think Harry will be going with me."

Instead of asking her "Well, why on earth not?" like many more irritating people might have, Hermione instead said only, "I hope he'll be all right with that. You know he worries about you, Ginny."

"I know," Ginny said. "I might not go alone; maybe I'll take someone from the paper, but I don't know. I'd rather try to find someone who knows a bit about art, I guess … Maybe they could help me figure out where all the best artifacts are and such."

"Well," Hermione said, and something in her voice made Ginny suddenly very nervous, "maybe you could ask Oliver!"


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Absolutely not."

Ginny had been arguing out loud with herself for about six minutes, but privately, she'd been going around the issue for a week. Hermione had called a few times, sometimes to apologize for suggesting anything at all, sometimes to rue what she had planted in Ginny's brain, sometimes to glory in what was seeming more and more like a great idea.

In fact, at this point, the only thing standing in the way to Ginny's mind was Harry. She knew Harry would never approve of her traveling anywhere alone, but she also knew that he would never approve of her traveling with anyone but him. And that's probably what bothered Ginny the most: the notion that Harry would have to, in any way, approve of what she was doing. She sighed and continued scrubbing the kitchen floor, as she often did when she was stressed over something.

"Think of everything you and Harry have been through and how good he is to you," she murmured to herself. "You've had good times - and bad, yes, but so does everyone - and you've been together forever. You know this will ruin things."

Ginny paused for a moment, formulating her counter-argument. Against herself. She was losing it. "Well," she said slowly, "some people just can't make it work. Maybe I'm one of those people. Maybe I just need a little more freedom, a little less predictability. The only thing keeping me sane at this point is that stupid art class. I hate Hermione."

"Hermione," Ginny responded - to herself - snappily, "has nothing to do with it. This is all your issue."

"What is?"

Ginny was so startled she practically leapt from the floor. There, in the kitchen doorway, a gentle and somehow sad smile on his face, was Harry. He looked very tired. Ginny got up slowly, her arguments with herself resolving themselves somehow. She was going on this trip. Harry was not going with her. She needed her own time. And although she didn't know what would happen afterwards, she had to tell him that.

"Hi," Harry said, reaching out to her. Ginny gave him a brief kiss, trying to seem detached but not disinterested. She wanted to create the best possible atmosphere for her horrible announcement. Harry's smile turned quickly into a puzzled frown. "Ginny, what is it? I know when I come home and you're scrubbing the floor and talking to yourself that something is wrong."

With a pang, Ginny understood how painful it would be for Harry if things went badly. Maybe she was making her decision too lightly…

Steeling her resolve, she reasoned with herself quickly. She'd been thinking about these issues for a long time. Harry wanted to marry her; she wasn't ready. Harry wanted to be together all the time; she needed her own space.

Harry, Harry, Harry…

"I've got a new offer from the Prophet," Ginny said slowly, avoiding Harry's eyes.

"Wow," Harry said after a pause. "Ginny, that's wonderful! Congratulations! I know how much you miss journalism," he added with a wink. "Just being in this old house with me has to be pretty boring."

Ginny sighed. The room seemed chilly all of a sudden. "It's not that it's boring here," she began cautiously. Harry frowned, and Ginny's resolve quavered momentarily. Gathering strength, she continued in a smaller but still sure voice. "I just … I need a break, you know? All my life I've been living either here, or the Burrow. Everywhere else is just places I've been at this point. I have to travel again, Harry. It's in my blood. I … I want to see more art. England only has so much, you know?"

Harry looked at her for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he smiled. "That's so like you, Ginny," he said, reaching out and embracing her, "taking every opportunity as it comes." He planted a kiss on the part in her hair and murmured against her scalp, "So, when do we leave?"

Ginny stiffened. Now or never. She was either going to take Hermione's advice or leave it, and, with it, probably her whole life up to this point. She was so terrified. She took a deep breath, trying to calm and focus herself as she had in painting classes, working to manipulate the orbs of color. "Harry," she said slowly, and now her voice was barely above a whisper, "I'm going to go without you."

Mimicking her movement of a moment before, Harry's arms stiffened around her. He pulled back robotically, looking down at her with unreadable eyes. It looked as though the cogs in his head had frozen; Ginny was sure he'd heard her, but wasn't sure he was processing the information. "You … you're leaving me?" he asked.

Ginny opened her mouth, eager to clear the air, but the words caught in her throat. She thought about the decision she was making. If she went alone, it was specifically because she wanted to leave Harry behind. If she didn't want him with her on a trip she hoped would rejuvenate her life … maybe she didn't want him at all. "I don't want you to think of it like that," she said. Harry's arms dropped from her shoulders and he rolled back on his heels, shaking his head slowly. "I just … I want to go on my own, or maybe with someone who will … help me see the art. Harry, please don't be angry. I think we both know things between us have been constricting for a while, and I think we could both use a break."

Harry was silent for a long moment. Ginny's blood felt like ice, but she knew she had to be strong. If she went back now, she could never move forward. "I've had a feeling for a while that things were bad," Harry said finally, enunciating each word separately. He paused again before meeting Ginny's eyes. "I had wanted to work to fix them, and I thought … I thought it was better. I was trying to meet your needs." There was a third pause. "Is it someone else?"

Ginny was taken aback. "What on earth? Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," Harry said, "I just don't know why else you would just suddenly want to leave me! We haven't been fighting nearly as much lately, and I thought I was being good to you-"

"Harry, it's not like that," Ginny interrupted, but Harry continued.

"Is it someone else?"

Ginny froze. Her blood, just beginning to feel heated under her skin, slowed to a gelatinous, icy crawl. She wanted to say no. She wanted to tell Harry that she wasn't just leaving him because she wanted someone else, but even as she opened her mouth to deny her boyfriend, someone else crept into her mind. "Harry, it isn't like that," she repeated, robotic, her voice low and cracked. "I just … I just need some space. I think we need a break, maybe look at some other options, focus on ourselves…"

Harry looked sad almost beyond recognition. Ginny had never seen him look so depressed before. There was a very, very long pause. "I can't argue," Harry said finally. He wouldn't look at her. Ginny felt like even if he had been, she couldn't have met his eyes. "Things have been different between us for a while. I'm still happy, but I can tell you're not." Another, smaller pause, as if he were gathering courage. Then, finally, he looked at Ginny, and she was surprised to find that she had very little trouble holding his gaze. "Ginny, I know there's someone else." Ginny shook her head, slowly at first, but frantically as he continued. "No, I know that's been on your mind. When I come home and kiss you after work, your mind is somewhere else. I can just tell, all right? I'm not angry, I guess; I'm just sad. I wanted to marry you."

Ginny couldn't speak and couldn't look away. "It was Oliver," she whispered. "We … we kissed once, and I haven't been able to get him out of my head. But," she added in a louder voice as Harry's eyebrows lowered ominously, "and I swear this, that's not why I'm leaving. I'm going because I don't know what's going on inside me. I want to get out and explore, and I'm not just talking geographically. I'm going to explore myself."

After another small pause, Harry reached out slowly and, carefully, took Ginny in his arms. Ginny went willingly, only starting to cry as her cheek met Harry's sweater. She felt something wet hit her scalp and knew Harry was crying too. When they broke apart, Ginny had an ominous feeling that it might be for the last time.

Awkwardly, Harry started to speak. "I know you probably don't want to stay here anymore," he said, "but if you do, I mean, I've got a lot of guest bedrooms, you've got my bank account…"

"Harry," Ginny interrupted gently, "I'm going to go to Hermione's. But really," she added sincerely, "thank you so much. You've been far more than I've ever expected, and probably more than I deserved."

"I feel the same way about you," Harry said with a small smile. A tear still hung on his face, but he wiped it away as Ginny watched. She hoped he would be okay, but she knew Harry; he had survived worse than this before.

But, as she turned to go upstairs and pack her things, Ginny suddenly wasn't sure if Harry was the one she should be worried about.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for missing last week, everyone! I've been a bit sick and busy with school, but I'm back in business now. We're very near the end! Thanks for sticking with me!-TheGoldenAge<p> 


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Knock, knock, knock.

Ginny stood on Hermione's doorstep, half wanting to cry, half wanting to scream. After a too-brief moment of waiting, Ginny knocked again, pounding on the door over and over, unable to stop. Under her fist, it opened abruptly, and Ginny had to stop herself from punching Hermione in the stomach.

"Good Lord, Ginny, you look a wreck," she said, widening the opening in the door and gesturing her friend inside. "What on earth is going on?" Hermione was obviously asking to be polite; there was no way she didn't know what could bring Ginny to her door at night on a weekend.

"Harry and I are done," Ginny blurted. Nothing was making sense in her mind. She knew she had made the right decision somehow, but she'd been with Harry in some sense for so long that being without him seemed off. She was looking out onto a different world. "I broke things off. I only meant to tell him that I was going to travel without him but somehow … somehow we just…"

The dim light of Hermione's living room seemed to suck her words away, gathering them in the shadows cast by furniture and lampshades. As Ginny told her the whole story, Hermione sat silently, waiting patiently as Ginny repeatedly gathered herself, paused, retold things, gestured wildly, and speculated about everything. Finally, when she was done, both women sat in silence for a while. Hermione looked kind and sad, staring more through Ginny than at her. Ginny herself couldn't meet her friend's eyes; she didn't feel strong enough somehow. Her confession had worn her out.

"Ginny…" Hermione said finally, her voice gentle, "do you think you did the right thing?"

Ginny was unresponsive for a moment. Did she? Had she done the right thing? She nodded.

Hermione sighed. "I'd hoped this wouldn't be how it ended up," she said. "I'd hoped things would be slower, more amicable … Or maybe I just hoped you wouldn't break up at all." She paused for a moment, a wry half-smile wrenching her lips up. "Ron and I just got engaged," she said. "I guess I just … I wanted us to be a happy family. Us four. Your mum and dad and brothers. Me and Harry…"

"Hermione," Ginny said, hoarsely breaking her silence, "I just need a place to stay for a little while. I'm going to the Prophet tomorrow to get my trip scheduled; it'll be within the month. It won't be long; I've got money, I can pay for things, I just need…"

Ginny trailed off. Hermione was shaking her head ominously, sadly. "Ginny, I can't," she said. "I can't take sides here. You and Harry … you're my best friends in this whole world. Even Ron…" She paused. The sadness in her voice was painted on her face, and her eyes were shining. Ginny had an ominous feeling about this silence, but she wasn't sure how it could be worse than what her best friend had already said. "Even Ron is on a different level. I care more about you, and I care more about Harry. And I can't choose one of you over the other. Harry will probably be here soon to tell me what you've just told me, Ginny, and I can't have either of you thinking that one of you has more of my sympathy."

Ginny was stunned, but it was muted. She felt blunted off, unable to feel anything strongly. Maybe her body was just shutting down in general. "Where else can I go?" she asked. "You know I can't stay with my brothers, Fleur just sent me the photos of her and Victoire in Giza with Bill, Charlie's in Romania, Percy is God-knows-where, George and Alicia are too busy being happy about their pregnancy, Ron is…" As Ginny said Ron's name, Hermione's face seemed to shut off. "Hermione, is something going on between you and Ron?"

Hermione was silent for a moment, her face still unmoving. Then she met Ginny's eyes. "I want you to follow your heart, Ginny," she said, a small but glowing smile crossing her face, "because I know you're right. It's not right to stay with someone you don't … you don't feel it's right to be with. I can't leave Ron," she said simply. "I don't have your strength, I guess, or really the drive or hope. But, Ginny, you have to find your own happiness."

Ginny smiled a little, muted still. "But where do I go?" she asked. "I need somewhere to stay while I work this out. I can't go to Dennis; we're coworkers now. Family is out of the question; it sounds like you've got your own things to work out … What - Hermione, why-?"

Hermione shook her head. "Just work on your own problems, Ginny," she murmured. "I'll call you when I think you're ready. If ever," she added, one corner of her mouth twisting up wryly. "As for where you can go … I guess I'll say what I've always been thinking, what I've - sort of - been saying for a while."

Ginny held her breath. She wasn't sure why, but it felt like Hermione had the key. Something she'd said before…

"You should go talk to Oliver."

When Ginny knocked on the door of the art studio, it was in a slightly more composed frame of mind. The rain pouring down on her head only served to calm her more; her mood was mirrored in the clouds, and it was strangely comforting to feel that nature was on her side. She hoped Oliver was still at work. She had no idea what she was going to say - or, rather, she had no idea how she was going to say what she had to say. She only knew she needed to say it.

Just when she was going to give up and get a (disgusting) room at the Leaky Cauldron for a whole month, the studio door opened. There was Oliver, paint spattering his face and arms, brows descending heavily like storm clouds. However, when his eyes met hers, they raised and cleared. "Ginny," he said, startled, backing away to allow her inside, and maybe to collect himself a little. "You've interrupted a rather nice painting I was working on."

"Sorry," Ginny replied briefly, casting a drying spell on herself and shivering slightly as the water siphoned off her skin. "I need a place to stay."

Oliver seemed slightly surprised at her bluntness, but met her eyes fairly. "And, you came to me then," he said, a trace of amusement seeping into his voice. "All your brothers busy? Hermione got a full house?" He seemed to instinctively know to stay away from Harry, but Ginny felt like she had to mention him. She was letting her intuition lead her through this conversation, which always seemed to work best with Oliver.

"Harry and I've broken up. Well," she amended, "I've broken up with Harry. I've also taken a job with the Prophet in a month or so. I'll pay you rent and everything, I'm a good housemate, magic makes it easy to store my things, and I promise I won't always be interrupting your paintings."

"You've sold me already," Oliver said, wiping his forearm over his forehead. All it did was smear more paint on his face. Ginny suppressed a dangerous-looking thought about how cute Oliver looked and how nice it would be to travel, write, and paint with him and I haven't even decided that yet. "But you only have to pay rent and such if you want to. What's your job with the Prophet? I hope you don't mind sleeping in small quarters because the 'spare bedroom'-" he accented with air quotes "-is basically a closet. My apartment is just barely big enough for me. This isn't to say that I mind having you," he added, responding to Ginny's mouth opening in protest, "just to warn you of what your lot will be. You should know, Ginny," he continued, his voice dropping seriously, "my feelings about you haven't changed. This is basically a dream come true for me."

"I know," Ginny sighed. "I think that's why I came to talk to you, even though it's fairly outside my nature. You won't turn me away. Hermione did."

Oliver's eyes crinkled sympathetically. "Now, no one in your place needs that," he said, opening his arms and wrapping Ginny in a very warm hug that smelled of paint fumes. For the first time since she'd been scrubbing the floor that afternoon, Ginny felt herself relax. Her body half-collapsed, leaning her against Oliver's strong body, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. She didn't cry; she was glad Hermione had seen that part of her reaction cycle and not Oliver.

"Thanks," she whispered. Oliver didn't respond, and at first she thought perhaps he didn't hear her, but his arms did tighten around her slightly, and then she was sure he had.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry I'm late! I'll try to keep updating every week, but it may not be on Mondays as usual since school is starting to heat up. Thanks for sticking with me! As I'm sure you can tell, we're VERY close to the end!-TheGoldenAge<p> 


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

"I've managed to get my bag even smaller," Ginny called, shoving the lid of her suitcase down with her elbow as she tried to force the zipper to close.

"Nice," Oliver called back. He was in the kitchen making breakfast while Ginny tried to pass the time until she could sneak down and help without him noticing. Usually Oliver only let Ginny make the coffee, as he had some strange idea of hospitality meaning that his guest didn't have to do anything, but Ginny had snuck in a few table sets and orange juice pours.

"Just let me cook something," she said from the doorway when she made it to the kitchen. She'd been planning to creep around, but somewhere on the stairs this plan had hit her as being rather childish.

"Look, you're staying in my house, insisting on paying rent and such, the least I can do is cook the eggs," Oliver said. "But if you really want, you can do the toast. And then the coffee - yours is better than mine and I'm getting rather used to having it."

"Then I'll make it every day," Ginny promised, her mood unusually sunny for a morning.

"Will you keep delivering it to me after you go?" Oliver asked, and although his voice was light, it felt like there was something a little heavier behind it. "I've gotten used to you being in my house, lass."

"Stop calling me 'lass,'" Ginny complained, although she didn't really mind it. Honestly, she thought it was rather sweet. "And I'll be here for another three weeks. You can keep drinking my coffee and painting my portraits until you're sick of me."

Oliver had insisted on painting portrait after portrait of Ginny, all quick, magical studies that he refused to show her until he was "done." He claimed that, since he never had girls hanging around, he needed to paint as many pictures of her as he could, and, as Ginny felt rather like she was imposing on him at home, she was happy to oblige at work. The best aspect of the recurring portrait sessions, however, was that Oliver didn't want her to just sit statically.

"Paint," he said. "Dance, read, look through the cabinets. I want to capture real life. I've been working a lot with fruit lately and I'm tired of knowing that my subject will still be in the same place when I look up from the canvas."

So, weaving in and out of the spinning orbs, Ginny spent one day cleaning the studio (a useless endeavor, since paint splatter seemed an unavoidable consequence of Oliver's painting). Another day, she sat and whirled her own paint, trying to feel whatever emotion seeing Oliver painting her was. Her portrait came out rather nicely, at least. Oliver's brows in particular, furrowed in concentration, stood out in detail and life-like quality. When Oliver saw it, he laughed, which initially made her nervous but he explained that he liked the meta-quality of the painting. He asked if he could put it outside the studio and Ginny acquiesced.

On Thursday night they went together to the final painting class of the semester. Hermione was absent. Ginny guessed she was trying to avoid any potential confrontation, but Roger and Oliver were in good moods and Ginny found them infectious. Class was productive and ran long, and although the idea of drinks was bandied about, Ginny was happy when the men decided that they needed to head home.

Ginny and Oliver went home together. She liked it. She liked walking in first, hanging their coats on opposite sides of his hat rack-style jacket tree. She liked locking the door behind them while Oliver wrapped his scarf around the bannister. She liked turning on the dim entryway lights and seeing the beige walls come a little alive in the gloom. She liked breathing the sigh of relief she heaved every time she came into the house.

Ginny had been worried when she moved in. She'd worried that she would miss Harry (and she had), she'd worried that the tension with Oliver might be noticeable (and it had been), but nothing so far had been enough to make her wish she hadn't left, or wish that Hermione had been willing to take her in. Truth be told, she'd been rather happy about the whole arrangement. Hermione might have played comforter to Harry too often to be okay with having Ginny around, although she was okay with talking to Ginny every day. They'd had lunch, dinner, or at the very least a phone chat every day of the past week. Things on Harry's end had been amicably quiet, and when she'd returned to get her things he'd even helped her pack with uncharacteristic gentleness. Everything was going well.

That is, it was. Until she turned around, opening her mouth to ask Oliver if he wanted to grab a beer from the fridge in lieu of the planned drink with Roger. Oliver was right behind her, his stomach almost touching her back, his breath hitting her face as she turned around. Nothing like this had happened since she'd come to his house; he'd respected her boundaries, even boundaries she didn't know she'd had, and things had been peaceful. Ginny's heart began to beat a vigorous and somehow welcome tattoo.

"I wish," Oliver said, his accent more noticeable as his voice roughened, "you understood how much walking in that door after you makes me want to kiss you again."

Ginny heard a roaring in her ears, and for a moment she thought she would faint. She didn't quite know what to say - well, that wasn't quite true. She knew what she wanted to say. Things like "I've wanted to kiss you too," "Then why don't you just do it," and sighing sounds floated through her head and seemed to vanish. She couldn't speak. Somehow she'd wanted this confrontation with herself, but she'd dreaded it too, afraid of the results.

"Why didn't you want to go out with Roger?" she asked, breathless. Why, out of all the things she could have said, why was that the one that came out? It didn't even make sense, logically it didn't follow anything … Ginny felt strangely like crying for a moment.

Oddly enough, Oliver seemed to have a more positive reaction. He looked at her for a moment, face unchanging, eyes burning. Then a grin broke over his face. "Oh, Ginny," he growled, moving so he was fully pressed against her, snaking a familiar hand over her cheek and into her hair, "can't you guess?"

Time slowed down long enough for Ginny to breathe in, but then it seemed to jump around unpredictably. One frozen moment Oliver's lips were on hers, the next her hands were at his waist, the next he was kissing her neck, the next her skin felt extremely hot…

Before she knew exactly what was happening, Oliver had somehow turned them so her back was pressed against the wall of the entryway. Their panting echoed slightly around the foyer and Oliver pressed his lips to her neck again. "Do you want to keep going?" he whispered against her heated skin, her loose hair twitching with the movements of his mouth.

Yes, moaned Ginny's body. Yes sighed her hot skin and her grasping fingers and her arched back.

No, whispered her fresh wounds and her common sense.

Ginny sighed, and Oliver read her sigh correctly, without anger. He moved away slightly, kissing her cheek gently before pulling back so only his fingers at her neck and waist touched her. "Sorry," he murmured. "I just got a bit carried away I guess."

"Me too," whispered Ginny breathlessly.

"It's just been such a dream having you," Oliver said. "You're still my dream girl, even in close quarters. It's going to be a shame when you have to go," he added ruefully, brushing his thumb over her jaw.

Ginny felt her skin prickle pleasurably under his touch. She felt in her stomach that she was going to say something silly and unrelated again - but then it had worked out well the last time. She didn't let herself stop the words spilling from her lips. "I don't want to have to go," she said, her voice a little stronger. "I want you to travel with me."


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Looking back, Ginny wished that the thought had even occurred to her to film Oliver's reaction. His eyes slowly got wide, then narrowed briefly as if he thought she might be joking or something. But Ginny guessed he hadn't seen anything suspicious in her face, because then he was beaming. Now, at the dinner table a few nights later, they were talking about it for what already seemed like the thousandth time.

"It's for a year," Ginny said. Oliver frowned slightly. "We're going to travel around a lot. I'm going to write about wizarding art; that's a lot of the reason why I asked you to go rather than someone else. You'll know where to go and who to talk to more than anyone else. You can paint or you can do whatever I'll be doing. I won't spend all my time writing. Part of it will be experiential research; basically, I'll be drinking heavily and biking around in the sun."

"Sounds nice," Oliver said dryly. "What am I going to do about work? I can't just take off, I haven't got a lot of money lying around, as you may have guessed. And I make my money by painting and teaching here."

"Oh," Ginny said, "I forgot about that." She took a bite of her mac and cheese (which Oliver had very cleverly made out of a box, Ginny didn't know how) and swallowed before continuing, "I talked to Dennis and told him I wanted to bring someone else, and before I could even ask about money, he said they'd left room for an extra stipend. They were just going to send Dennis or Harry with me, so thanks for agreeing to come so I wouldn't be stuck with one of them. Traveling with Harry might not be so bad, I guess, but he can be a bit boring sometimes. He doesn't like adventure."

"And you think I do?" Oliver asked playfully, collecting their empty plates and moving to the sink.

"I know you do," Ginny replied. "Come on, let me do the dishes."

"If you really want to," Oliver sighed, faking regret. "I'll go get a sketchbook, I want to immortalize this moment." Ginny could hear him titling his work as he walked away: "The Princess Does the Dishes."

She laughed a little to herself as she started filling the sink. She and Oliver had barely had any physical contact since he'd kissed her again the other day, and Ginny was conflicted about this. On one hand, she really wanted him to kiss her again. On the other hand, her heart still felt somewhat tender from her breakup with Harry, although she couldn't think of it as something raw and recent anymore. She wasn't sure whether it was messing with her mind to have Oliver so close … sometimes so very close … but it did seem that she was more romantically volatile than ever. Anything that happened between them, anything sweet or funny or even irritating seemed blown out of proportion when she thought about it later. She sort of wished Oliver would stop painting her portraits. It was too romantic for her soft heart to take.

"Wow," Oliver said, startling Ginny from her reverie. She looked toward his voice and found him sitting on a chair, sketchbook and pencil in hand. "Oh, no, go back to whatever you were doing. Your expression was perfect for drawing."

"Sorry for disappointing you," Ginny said somewhat sarcastically. "I'll try not to look at you anymore. I don't have many more dishes to do, though, so draw fast, because I'm not standing here after that."

"Fine, grouch," Oliver said, chuckling as he bent his head over his paper.

The two of them worked in silence for a while. Ginny found herself washing the dishes more and more slowly, wondering how Oliver was drawing her. Maybe she would look like a Picasso, with her nose and arms everywhere at once; maybe she would be more like a Rubens, although she didn't think she had quite the voluptuous figure she would need to be one of his paintings. As she finished this thought, she realized she'd been sloshing water around absently in a glass for more time than could possibly be improving its cleanliness, and she hastily rinsed it and put it on the counter.

"I like when you kind of drift off in your own thoughts like that," Oliver said quietly. He was still sketching, the floor lamp trained on his paper. He wasn't looking at Ginny. "Your face looks peaceful. Peaceful faces are always the best to draw."

Something in his voice was tender, and Ginny heard it. She wasn't sure if she was ready for it or not, but she certainly liked it. "Thanks," she said rather weakly. "Can I see what you've drawn?"

Now Oliver looked up at her. His eyes were soft in the dim light. For a long moment, it seemed like they would just look at each other forever. Then, Oliver's lips quirked slightly, and the spell broke. "Rinse out the sink, lazy," he said, although the cheeriness in his voice felt forced, as if he'd had trouble emerging from their connection. "Then you can look."

Ginny sighed and did as he said. "All right, it's spotless," she said, brushing her hands off on her jeans. "Come on, let me see your-" She cut off. Oliver had turned the sketchpad around, and there she was. It was just a sketch of her face, but it looked so lifelike. Her hair waved over her cheeks and down her neck, her brows stretched over her eyes, which were drawn more clearly than the rest of her features and shone gently and somewhat vaguely. Her lips were slightly apart (Ginny privately thought they looked a bit fuller than reality, but she supposed a man could dream) and the whole picture sort of had a sheen to it, as if he'd drawn it from a mirror. He'd clearly taken some care with it, despite the briefness of the interval he'd had to work.

"It's lovely," Ginny said. "Is it vain to say that about my own face?"

Oliver laughed. "It's very cute to say that about your own face," he said, "especially since I'm the one who drew it. So thank you."

Ginny smiled a little. She couldn't stop looking at the drawing, which felt odd. It felt as if she were looking in a mirror that somehow converted the observer into a sketch form of themselves. Oliver was talented. He was a good artist; and, she thought for the first time, she was a good muse.

Muse?

She liked the sound of it. She remembered Oliver's talks about Picasso in their classes and she had a fuzzy image of her head of the two of them in sunny Spain, she writing, he painting her from all angles at once…

"Do you want to keep it?" Oliver asked, breaking her daydream and dissolving the rather pleasing footage she had been playing in her head. "I'd probably be willing to part with this one, as it might not be part of the final product."

"Goodness," Ginny said. "I don't think I could. It's so nice I wouldn't want it hanging around reminding me that I don't really look like that."

"Ginny, this is a life drawing," Oliver said, setting his sketchbook down and guiding her down to the sofa next to him. "This is what you look like. Exactly what you look like, if I can flatter myself that much."

"Well, you've given me a nicer pair of lips," Ginny retorted gently.

Oliver unexpectedly dropped his gaze. "When I was drawing your lips … I mean, I couldn't really help it, but I was just thinking of Thursday night in the hallway … But," he continued, "if I were being honest, I've basically been thinking about that nonstop since then. I've been meaning to tell you. I don't want you to take me on your trip with you if you don't want me to keep trying. I don't need you to fall in love with me, Ginny," he said softly. "I'm not the kind that needs that. But it would be nice, and it's been longer than I like to admit since I've even wanted someone in my life the way I want you in mine."

Ginny couldn't breathe. If she and Oliver were going to be spending copious amounts of time alone together, with the possibility of conversations like this occurring more frequently, she would need to learn how to avoid that side effect so she didn't damage her lungs. "I'll be honest with you," she said once she'd managed to start her breathing again. "I don't know how I feel. I know I've been thinking about … us … for a while, in a sense. I know I'd like you to kiss me again. But," she continued, letting her voice become more serious, "I'm not really sure how much of it is me being lonely and still upset over Harry. I told you it went well, and it did, and that I was feeling fine, which is true to a certain extent, but I feel very vulnerable to my emotions. I want you to go with me. I don't want to go alone, and I don't want to go with anyone else. I want to go with you. And who knows what will happen between us on the road, so to speak, but I wanted you to understand the situation. Basically what I'm saying is keep trying, but maybe be aware of me and try to understand how I might be feeling."

"As ever," Oliver said, grinning. "I'm glad you're okay with me going with you still, as I've already bought some shorts for when we're in Spain."

"It was nice of you to give me a chance to leave you here anyway," Ginny said, lips quirking a little. "And how do you know we're going to Spain?"

"Ginny," Oliver replied, draping his arm around her shoulders, "how on earth do you think Pablo Picasso learned to paint like that?"


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ginny lugged her suitcase down the stairs, where Ron and Hermione were standing. Hermione's brand-new engagement ring shone dimly in the hall light, and Ginny grinned for the hundredth time thinking about the upcoming wedding. They'd agreed to hold off until Ginny was back the next year, although Ginny privately suspected it might have been because Hermione had gotten rather nervous about the commitment.

"You're going to have a wonderful time," Hermione gushed, putting her arms around Ginny. "Maybe we'll meet up with you when you're somewhere sunny, hmm?"

"I'll look forward to it," Ginny replied, releasing Hermione and replacing her with her brother. "Bye, Ron. Take care of Hermione while I'm gone."

"Are you joking?" Ron chuckled. "Do you think Hermione needs anyone to take care of her?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and stepped back. She took what would be her last look at her brother and best friend for a long time; they looked very happy together. Ron's arm draped familiarly around Hermione's shoulders, and the brunette didn't even look the slightest bit uncomfortable. Ginny suppressed a grin. " All right, lovebirds. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. I'll write regularly to let you know I haven't drunk myself to death or gotten horribly lost in a Peruvian jungle while looking at pottery."

"Isn't that what Oliver's going for?" Hermione chided gently. Ron's face took on a slightly mask-like look; Ginny knew her brother hadn't approved of the way she and Harry had parted, but even Ron couldn't avoid how undeniably happy his sister was. Even Harry had been recovering nicely, although he'd maintained a very impenetrable distance from Ginny.

"For the most part," Ginny replied, "although I won't have any protection at all if he doesn't get down here. Oliver!" she called up the stairs. "Come on, we're going to miss our Portkey!"

"For the love of Merlin," he grumbled, appearing around the corner. "Keep in mind, lassie, it's not your house we're leaving for a year. I've got to make sure everything is in order for whomever lives here next."

Hermione smiled. Ginny knew her friend was hoping something would happen on their trip that might bring Ginny and Oliver into the stable relationship she could better understand, but, surprising herself, Ginny didn't know if that would happen - or even if that was what she wanted. For once, what she really wanted was to let things unfold naturally. "You two are going to learn about art and dancing and music and culture and by the time you come back you'll be brown as leather," Hermione said, hugging Oliver briefly. He kissed her on the cheek briefly, winking cheekily at a glowering Ron, and grabbed Ginny's suitcase in his free hand.

"Ready?" he asked. Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, if you're already sick of me before we've left the house this trip is going to be no fun at all."

Waving goodbye to Ron and Hermione one last time, Ginny joined Oliver at the end of the street, where an unobtrusive and rather mucky-looking bean can was lying. "Very glamorous," she said sardonically. Oliver just gestured to the metal surface, which he already had a finger touched to, and looked at his watch. Obediently, Ginny pressed her finger to the can, nervous suddenly for the first time.

As if he'd read her mind, Oliver asked without looking up from his watch, "Scared?"

But before she could answer, the two of them had whirled into nothingness.

"Merlin," Ginny said lazily, "I am never leaving Italy."

A week and a half into their trip, Ginny had seen more art in Italy than she'd seen in her entire life. She'd also drunk more wine than ever, and that had helped to make the time flow in a pleasant, educational haze. For right now, however, she and Oliver were on the balcony of their small but surprisingly nice hotel; she was writing and he was painting some landscape. When she'd asked Oliver why he hadn't brought any of his supplies with him, he'd replied that he planned to buy them in every place they went to and creating a piece that mirrored the local style. Ginny thought this seemed rather like an artistic tourism, but then she remembered that she was a travel writer and had wisely kept her mouth shut.

"It is nice here, isn't it?" Oliver replied. He had paint in his hair, which was unusual considering that he was painting in the much calmer Muggle style, with paintbrushes and a complete lack of unpredictability in the paint's movement. "I'm about ready to put a down payment on a villa."

"Or a vineyard," Ginny replied. She signed her name at the bottom of her quill-printed article and read it over again for typos. She knew she had a copy editor waiting back in England, but she didn't want to be embarrassed; nor did she really want everyone to know that she was a little tipsy already. The sun hadn't even gone down yet, for Merlin's sake. "Don't you just wish we could stay here forever? Buy a little house and raise goats or something? We'd always have a trim lawn."

Oliver snickered quietly as Ginny rolled up and sealed her article. She'd bring it to the Owlery Dennis had told her about in his very informative letter of "things they'd need to know" tomorrow. He'd told them all about magical locations in different countries, where and when their Portkeys would depart (although he'd left room for them to create their own if need be), and - Ginny suspected this may not have been something his bosses had proposed he write - some of the better clubs and bars he'd been to in his less extensive, but still respectable, travels. Ginny had penned a thank you note and, after that, had hoped to never hear from the Daily Prophet again. "Are you really tipsy already, Ginny?" Oliver asked, cutting into her reverie.

"Obviously not," she replied, "I'm working."

"Can I read your article?" Oliver said, balancing his palette on the railing.

"That doesn't look safe," Ginny said, nodding at the palette. "And no, I've already sealed it. But remind me next time and I'll give it to you first."

Oliver rescued his paints from the precipice and continued his work. "Well, then tell me what you wrote about while I paint," he said. "I'd rather hear it in your own words somehow than have to order the Daily Prophet to wherever we happen to be at the time. And I think it will be more interesting if you have more wine in your body than blood."

"All right then," Ginny said irritably, "don't tease. I'm trying not to let it get to my head at least. Anyway," she continued, letting her voice drop back to its normal tone, "I wrote about David. You know, the statue. I wrote about how Michelangelo manipulated the marble with magic-"

"Very alliterative," commented Oliver briefly.

"-and how beautiful it was. I wrote about how big it was, since he'd wanted to combine the legend of David ironically with his experiences with the giants of Perugia. I wrote about how the light from the windows sort of framed the statue without shining on it directly, and how the Muggle tour guide told a completely different story from the one you whispered in my ear while he talked about the Pope's guiding influence. I wrote about how that night we went out and twirled our spaghetti and I wondered how a people that loved such mutable food could create such an implacable piece of art. And I mainly wrote about how Muggles may not have our magic, but they do have magic somehow. The way they recognize great art and fill buildings with it, the way they keep making food for themselves even though sometimes it's unbelievably difficult or complicated, the way they hire tour guides to explain to the curious masses in basic Italian how a man made something that lasted hundreds of years after he died…"

As Ginny trailed off, she looked over at Oliver. His eyes were fixed on his canvas, but his paintbrush was fixed in his hand, a foot away from the surface. "Come look at my landscape," he said abruptly, "and then I'd really like you to kiss me, if you wouldn't mind."

Ginny froze. They'd had a very peaceful and symbiotic time in beautiful Italy, and, though she'd be lying if she said the thought hadn't crossed her mind, nothing outside platonic friendship had happened between them. Oliver had made one comment about saving money by renting just one hotel room, but it had had the air of something that was released into the ether and forgotten. This command, however, was much more difficult to ignore. Unsteady, she rose from her chair and felt dizzy for a moment; the rapid change in elevation and the alcohol she'd imbibed went to her head rapidly, but when her vision had cleared again she walked over to stand next to Oliver.

His painting was beautiful. The greens and browns of the houses and trees stretched both beyond the railing and over the canvas. The blue sky and few thin clouds were rendered carelessly enough to be perfect and wind-blown. Ginny caught her breath with difficulty; how could someone so talented and receptive to beauty be interested in her?

Slowly, she turned to face Oliver. "It's lovely," she said. "Beyond lovely, really. I just don't know a better word for it. You're an excellent painter."

Oliver smiled softly, bringing his paint-damp hand up to her cheek and brushing his fingers over her ear. "Now I really want to kiss you," he said. "It's not every day that someone pays me a compliment like that." He moved closer to her, lips a little apart, but he seemed to be holding back, waiting for something.

Ginny took a breath for strength. "Well?" she asked, trying for defiance but ending up mostly with breathiness. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

Oliver's smile widened, and he needed no more encouragement. He bent fully to meet her lips, unreserved this time. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, drawing his right arm around her waist to pull her closer to him, and she responded with parted lips. Oliver, somewhat hesitantly, moved his tongue against hers, slow and sensual; Ginny mirrored his movements, hoping to give him at least some of the feeling he was giving her. She slid her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in the sandy brown hair at the nape of his neck, bowing her body completely against his. Surprising her, Oliver swept one warm hand and arm under her loose top, moving his fingers gently and carefully against her back. Ginny didn't try to pull away. When Oliver broke the kiss finally, it was only so he could work his way down her jaw and neck, kissing every spot he could find, tracing a path of heat under her skin as he went. Still his fingers worked slowly, maddeningly, on the smooth skin of her back, sometimes moving to play on her sides, always finding their way back to her spine. Ginny moved her hands tentatively to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up so she could finally press her fingers to the firm skin of his hips and back. Oliver exhaled sharply, hot breath against her neck and collarbones.

"You have such small hands," he murmured, running his hand down her arm while still keeping firm hold of her waist. "I like it when you touch me like that."

"I like it too," Ginny said breathlessly. It was very difficult to speak with Oliver's lips pressed against the depression at the base of her throat. "You're so warm. You're so good at this." Her voice cut off into a small moan, and she felt a little embarrassed when she felt Oliver chuckle through the skin of his back.

"It's hot when you moan like that," he said, laying some of Ginny's fears to rest. She blushed instead, and started to pull away. She was wary of things going too far too quickly; maybe her brothers' constant teasing about boys had finally made its way into her psyche. Oliver frowned, pressing one last kiss to her neck before moving to look at her. "Did I do something wrong? Is this too much?" He moved his hand from under her shirt but still held her waist lightly.

"Well," Ginny said, voice a little squeaky, "um, no. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact … you're doing everything right. That's … that's sort of the problem."

Oliver chuckled again, and Ginny liked feeling the sound ripple under her hands but she felt uncomfortable. She took her hands out from under his shirt and placed them somewhat awkwardly on Oliver's shoulders. "No fucking the tour guides, hmm?" he asked.

Ginny laughed, more to cover her own sudden fear than anything else. Is that already what Oliver was expecting? Then again, she'd be lying if she said the thought hadn't crossed her mind… She shook her head, both at her own rather inappropriate internal monologue and at Oliver's remark. "Not so much that," she said, "as no fucking the tour guides until I feel ready."

Oliver nodded. "I understand," he said, "but I really hope you're okay with doing _that_ every so often."

"I doubt I could pass it up," Ginny replied.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope this somewhat longer chapter makes up for my absence, dear readers! Things have been a little crazy here in college, but if it's any consolation, I've probably missed this story even more than you have! I've told myself that I'm going to try to update more regularly, but as Mary Poppins says, that's a bit of a piecrust promise: easily made, easily broken. I really am going to try! Writing is good for me; and, as you can probably tell, the tale of Ginny and Oliver is drawing to a close. It's been a good run, all! Hope you've enjoyed this last chapter; not too steamy yet, but we're getting there. ;)-TheGoldenAge<p> 


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

"Will you hurry up already?"

"I think the Great Salt Lake will still be there five minutes from now when I've had time to tie my top right!" Ginny shouted, fussing with the strings of her bikini.

America had been strange. She and Oliver had been abroad for four months and they'd gone all over Europe and most of the way across the United States; if she'd been rather ignorant about life there, Oliver had known nothing. They'd seen art like nothing else, Oliver had used mediums he'd never dreamed of (Ginny had to convince him that using his own ejaculate like one … unusual … artist they'd encountered was an awful idea), and Ginny had churned out three columns from American experiences alone. Now they were in Utah, studying something Ginny had never seen before: video games. The founder of something called A-tar-ee lived in Salt Lake City and Ginny had been lucky enough to interview him. Oliver had been struggling to paint or make something that was at all like what they'd seen at the museum, so he (Ginny privately believed) was putting it off by dragging her to the Great Salt Lake. Not, of course, that she didn't want to go.

Finally struggling her top into submission, Ginny threw on one of Oliver's shirts (it was his own fault for leaving it on her floor when he had his own side of the suite to leave clothes on) over her suit and shorts and grabbed her bag. Dashing down the stairs, she announced her descent to an impatient Oliver. He turned, mouth open to chide her for taking so long, but he stopped mid-word when his gaze fell on her.

"What on earth?" Ginny said, polishing her sunglasses briefly on the tail of Oliver's button-down. "Look, I'm sorry for using your shirt, but I'm not really, and you dumped it in my room when you could have just as easily dumped it in yours and… Stop staring!"

"Sorry," Oliver said, obviously not very sorry at all. "Sorry, I just … you look …"

"What, stupid?" Ginny frowned, looking down at herself. She thought she'd looked rather nice, as she'd been skimping on her food budget so she could get nicer hotels, writing supplies, alcohol, and hangover potions. "Well, I just figured since your clothes are so big they'd help me to dry faster, I won't get salt on it or anything, I promise."

"No, you look sexy," Oliver said, and he almost blurted it out. "You just look very sexy, that's all. I like seeing you wearing something of mine. It's a bit primal." Until the last sentence, his voice had been a little too serious for Ginny's liking, but the lightening of his tone relaxed her again. "I'm glad we're going together. You're making me look better just by being with me."

"Shut up, then," Ginny laughed. "Apparate? I'm sure there's some spot where Muggles won't see us. Behind a building or something."

"Seems a bit risky, lass," Oliver replied, but nevertheless he held out his arm for Ginny and she took it. Squeezing her eyes shut, her body followed Oliver's as he twisted into the quick but tight grip of Apparition. When she opened them, the light was dim and the air felt humid. She looked around, blinking slightly as she got used to the comparative darkness.

"Are we in a shower?" she asked, and although she hadn't spoken loudly her voice echoed slightly.

"Hey!" came another voice from over the wall. "This is the men's room, ya twat!"

"Oh, shut up," Ginny responded. She lowered her voice to speak to Oliver, who had been observing the exchange with amusement. "Right, I'm going to the girls' so I can walk out without attracting too much attention. Try not to get lost."

Once she'd done as she said, she met up with Oliver and they walked together down to the lake. It was larger than any Ginny had ever seen, and although there were several people scattered in the water and on the shore, it wasn't terribly crowded. It was beautiful, in an earthy sort of way. She felt like painting it but she wanted a magical impression and, obviously, couldn't get that in front of the Muggles. "It's wonderful," she said, and Oliver nodded. "Want to get in?"

Together they left their things on the beach atop the small blanket they'd borrowed from the owner of the bed and breakfast where they were staying. He'd lent it to them happily with far too many smiles and knowing winks for Ginny to be comfortable. Oliver, as usual, had just found a lot of amusement in the situation. Now, on the beach, he spent another moment admiring her much fitter than usual bikini-clad body before they sauntered leisurely into the lake. It was almost summer, and the water was clammy, but buoyant. Ginny stepped out slowly until the lake rippled gently against her waist, then raised her legs and spread her body out until she was floating on her back. Oliver went out a foot further and did the same. They drifted aimlessly, together but each in their own mind. Ginny looked up at the sky, thinking about Hermione and what she and Ron were doing. Lately Hermione's letters had been awfully cagey about her brother, and Ginny was starting to worry she'd started a ripple of domestic disturbances when she broke up with Harry. However, reflecting on it further, a blissful float in a salt lake that was bigger than any lake Ginny had ever been to didn't seem like the time to think about troublesome things.

She let her mind drift to Harry, who had just sent her a very cautious and somewhat standoffish letter. She wasn't upset over it; on the contrary, she was excited that he'd wanted to write to her at all. She was planning to respond to him sometime before she left Utah, as she had no clue when the next time she'd have a spare moment would be. She was healed enough over the breakup at this point that she was beginning to miss Harry's company as a friend, although Oliver had certainly been living up to the task of filling the void.

_Oliver_.

Now there was a pleasant topic, and she settled on it. The man silently floating a foot away from her had completely turned her life upside down. Over the past months after their heated kiss in Italy, they'd shared many more intimate moments, both bodily and emotionally. It seemed like every time they kissed was just as wonderful as the first time, and Ginny had surprisingly little difficulty sharing parts of herself that she typically kept guarded from other people. For instance, when May had begun, she realized with the annual gut-wrenching thud of sorrow that the anniversary of Fred's death was approaching faster than she could have believed possible. When Oliver had knocked on the door to ask her opinion on dinner, she'd opened to him without a second thought, although she'd cried more than a few tears. He didn't say anything, just brought her back to her bed and half-sat, half-lay next to her until she was ready to talk. He was a good listener and, after an hour, Ginny found herself sitting amidst take-out boxes, laughing and exchanging stories about her beloved brother.

However, things weren't always that innocent between them. She was feeling the same kind of dull heat that she'd felt with Harry almost throughout their relationship. Whatever else Harry's weaknesses might have been, his skill in the bedroom was not one of them. At this point in her relationship with Oliver, she had a sinking feeling that the only reason she was holding back was a subconscious fear that Oliver might not be as good as her ex-boyfriend. He hadn't had the experience with her that Harry had; Harry had been her first and, at least until now, her last, though there had been a few in between. Harry knew how to please her, he knew just exactly what she wanted, and, although Oliver knew just where and how to kiss her, that was the easy part of it.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Oliver's voice interrupted her rather pleasant train of thought. He was no longer floating, but standing about six inches from her stomach and, although Ginny thought he was rather missing the point of visiting the lake by not taking advantage of its magic, she wasn't about to fight him over it. On a whim built from months of experience with the ever-open Oliver, she decided to be honest. "I was just thinking about you," she said, looking up at him.

"Really?" he asked, moving a little closer. One of his hands gently stroked the curve of her waist. Her already-cold skin bristled in fresh goose bumps. "Chilly, eh?"

"Not really," she said, thankful her teeth were no longer chattering.

"Well then," Oliver said, "what were you thinking about me, hmm?"

"It might be a little uncomfortable," Ginny warned.

"For me to listen to or for you to tell?" he asked, eyes twinkling. His hand still rested at her waist, while the fingers of the other pulled gently through her water-logged cloud of hair.

"A bit of both, maybe," Ginny said. When he didn't respond, she continued, "I've been thinking about how much I've wanted you lately. I know it's not very professional of me but I'm sort of past caring. I don't really think of you as a co-worker, although you are, in a way. I think of you as a friend I'm traveling with - and," she added, "as a friend I'm interested in. Sexually. I've been feeling a lot better lately about old wounds with Harry and it's even at the point where I miss him a bit as a friend and as someone who shares my time, so I don't have many misgivings about finally taking … this … to that step." For the first time during her little speech, Ginny felt nervous. "I'm … I guess I'm just not sure how being with you will be compared to Harry. Not that I'll compare you too consciously," she added, "but you know how it is. I was with Harry for a long time, he knew what I liked…" Her voice trailed off rather miserably.

Oliver didn't seem fazed or insulted at all. His hand crept lower, sliding over her hip and onto her backside, where it came to rest. "Oh, Ginny," he said, and his voice was a deep, rugged growl that made the water freeze around her warming body, "is that all you're worried about?" His fingers tightened around her arse, causing her back to arch slightly. Her lips parted almost unstoppably, and she felt her anxieties about being with Oliver grow a little hazier in her mind. "I don't blame you, though, lass," he continued, his voice approaching a more normal level and his hand loosening to travel back up to the small of her back. "And we're adults, so just straight fucking isn't our only option. How about we take it in steps?" he suggested. "I'll show you how I can please you, you can try things to see if you're all right with me if you'd like, and we'll go from there."

"You're so accommodating," Ginny breathed, mind racing with all the possibilities that deal held. "Thanks for being so understanding about this."

Oliver shrugged, strangely businesslike. "I just really, really want you," he said, and although he chuckled lightly with Ginny, something in his tone had been awfully serious.

* * *

><p>AN: Well, as I'm sure you've guessed, the rating for this story is going up! I hope you're enjoying everything - I know I am! I had originally planned for the next chapter to be the last one but I love writing it so much that I cannot seem to stop! :) Also, this story just officially passed 50,000 words of content. Thank you for sticking with me for so long, readers!-TheGoldenAge<p> 


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

A month later, Ginny was lying very late in her bed, and at last her night hadn't been lonely. She and Oliver had been fooling around until the very early hours of the morning, and by 2:00 AM neither of them had enough energy to leave the bed. When Ginny woke up in their artificially dark hotel room, it was almost eleven and Oliver's arm was draped over her bare waist.

Oh.

Judging by the goosebumps that suddenly covered her body wherever the air hit it, Ginny was only wearing the shorts she'd put on before bed. Well, those and Oliver's arm, which felt very, very warm. Not that she regretted this exactly; last night had been very enjoyable. Oliver had made very good on his deal over the past month and she had lost very nearly all of her reservations and anxieties about his ability to do as she liked. He was very talented.

Trying to be quiet and not move too quickly, she unhooked Oliver's arm from her body and slid out from underneath it. Tiptoeing as carefully as she could, she made her way to their bathroom and got ready to take a shower (although all that meant was tossing her shorts onto the bedroom floor through the bathroom door and then closing that door behind her). She turned on the water and stood back for a second, admiring the bizarre shower setup that this hotel had chosen. There was one glass wall with a door in it which separated the toilet, sink, and towel space, but otherwise the shower was open, and the water poured down directly from the ceiling. The first day they had been in Juneau, Alaska (and this very nice hotel), Ginny had been rather puzzled by the contraption, but by now she had grown to like it.

Turning on the water, Ginny waited a moment for it to warm, then stepped back beneath the stream and just stood there for a while. She enjoyed the feeling of the gentle flow running over her body, which was slightly sore after some of last night's escapades - but it was a good soreness. She had had this feeling with Harry before, and she had missed it. Her mind drifted over everything that had happened last night, everything they had slowly building up to for a month… For maybe the first time since she and Harry had broken up, Ginny felt like she was ready. She was ready to take the last step with Oliver. She had wanted him for almost as long as she had known him, to varying degrees, and after all this time traveling and living together she finally felt comfortable with him in every way possible.

Just as her mind was drifting pleasantly back to last night's highlights, the bathroom door opened behind her. She whirled around, preparing for some sort of defensive situation (although she wasn't quite sure why - most likely just a fight or flight instinct she couldn't get rid of), but it was just Oliver. He had already gotten rid of his boxers, which were all he had worn to bed, and Ginny took a long moment to admire his body, which she still couldn't quite believe she was allowed to look at and touch and pleasure…

"Mind if I join you?" Oliver asked, watching Ginny's eyes and grinning.

"Seems like you already have," Ginny replied, and her voice was low and a little more sensual than she had intended for a rather flippant sentence. Oliver seemed to like it; at least, he grinned at her in a way that he always did before they ended up in one of their beds.

He stepped under the water with her, moving much closer than he strictly had to (although Ginny wasn't complaining). He looked down at her for a moment through the thin curtain of water that separated them, then leaned down to kiss her, much more gently than he had earlier.

"Last night was fun," he said when he broke the kiss, smiling more authentically at Ginny.

"To say the least," she replied, smiling back. She felt a little breathless, a feeling she had gotten used to, at least to some extent. She paused for a moment, half to catch her breath, half to gather her courage. "I think," she continued when she'd gotten her voice to steady somewhat, "we could do more, if you wanted."

Oliver's eyes widened slightly, as if this were the first time he'd heard this. "Ginny," he said, almost gingerly, "are you sure? I've wanted you for a long time, but I don't want to pressure you at all…"

Ginny tried to think of what to say and came up with nothing. Her body felt hot all over; there was steam in the air and water ran all over her body and Oliver's. Somehow it accentuated everything, and the part of her brain that did things like think of what to say shut off completely. A totally different part came to life. Instead of saying "Yes, you know I've wanted you too and I'm finally ready and oh, by the way, you're quite nearly as good as Harry without a few years together to help you out so that didn't hurt things please fuck me," which is what she might have said if she'd been able to vocalize her thoughts, she acted on it. Reaching up so her palm was against the back of Oliver's neck, she pulled him down to kiss her again. She opened her mouth against his, not giving him enough time to be confused about what she meant, and she knew the moment he understood where her mind was at. Hungrily he kissed her again, rubbing his tongue against hers, wrapping one hand against the back of her head and one around her naked hip, pulling her completely against him. Their lips parted and Ginny was panting, but Oliver just moved down to kiss her jawline and neck, leaving what she could tell would be bruises tomorrow in hot and pleasurable lights of pain. He reached her collarbones and paused to nip them slightly before continuing down to her bare, slick chest.

Ginny arched her back, pressing closer to him as his breath hit her pert nipples. She felt on fire, more alive than she had been in a long time. The shower water poured all around her, muffling the sounds of their sighs. Oliver's tongue slowly circled one nipple; his hands caressed her other breast and her arse. She was entirely swallowed up by him, and without having to think twice - for the first time, without thinking about Harry - Ginny reached for the erection she could feel pressing against her leg.

Oliver inhaled sharply as Ginny wrapped her fingers surely around his shaft, and as she began to roll her hand up and down his exhales turned to moans of pleasure. He shifted his hand from her breast down further, trailing over her stomach, almost as if he could feel the heat building in her gut, dropping down, down, into the roots of her body. Then his clever fingers made contact with the sensitive skin between her legs and the coherency of her thoughts ended.

She pumped harder, sliding her fingers and palm up and down his cock with a little more speed, when his fingers slide inside her. Their moans filled the bathroom, echoing off the walls and drowning even the continuous dripping of the shower head; after Ginny had erupted in one particularly breathy vocalization, Oliver looked her in the eyes. His pupils were bigger and darker-looking than usual, and Ginny felt the heat inside her body burn brighter and hotter. He slowly slid his fingers from inside her, only to press them against one of her heated thighs urgently. More responsive than she could remember ever being, Ginny obligingly widened her stance and moved her hips up against Oliver's, guiding his cock up to her entrance. For a moment, Oliver rubbed the head of his penis tantalizingly against her pussy, watching her reactions, watching her eyes widen and her jaw drop, watching her eyes burn again, hotter than before.

Then, with one slow and definitive push of his hips, Oliver was inside her. Ginny's body lit up, she was on fire and she burned as she moved her body in time with his. Oliver never pulled back fully. His chest pressed against hers; only his hips moved back and forth, his speed gradually increasing as their breathing grew more and more in time. Ginny's hands were locked around his back, holding herself even closer against him, wishing she could somehow crawl under his skin and be everywhere that he was.

Their breathing turned to panting. Oliver's thrusts were met by Ginny's own movements, forceful and sure. Together they moved faster and faster; Ginny felt her all muscles clenching, tightening around Oliver. She could feel something change in him too, and together they pushed, hard, against each other, Oliver burying deeper and deeper inside her until finally the heat that had built up boiled over, and in a flash of almost unbearable light she came, shuddering, as she felt Oliver do the same inside her, pushing her against the shower wall with the weight of his body. Still locked together, they slid down until Ginny was seated on the floor, Oliver right next to her, both their shoulders pressed against the slick wall. Water still poured down, pooling around them before it drained. Ginny felt like the water, sliding down passively, no real energy, carried by the forces around her.

Oliver rested his head against her shoulder, surprising Ginny. Oliver was many things with her, but he was never really tender. She leaned her chin against the crown of his head, trying to keep breathing. For some reason, she felt very tired. The sounds of their breathing disappeared under the flow of the water.

Then, so quietly she almost didn't hear it, Oliver murmured, "I wish I could paint this."

* * *

><p>AN: I'm baaaack! With a glorious return. I hope you all enjoyed. ;) -TheGoldenAge


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

"I don't understand why you were so keen for us to stop in Germany on the way home," Ginny said, wrapping her hair in a turban and sliding into her underwear. She and Oliver were at the final hotel stop of their year-long trip, although she had finished and sent off her last article already. Oliver had insisted they go to Germany, although he had been awfully cagey about why he wanted to go. He just kept saying things like "It'll make sense when we get there," which was exactly what he said now.

"It'll make sense when we get there," he said.

"Oliver," Ginny said slowly, pausing as she buttoned her shirt to meet his eyes in the mirror she sat in front of, "we are here."

"Well, we're in Cologne, yes," he agreed patiently, "but we're not there yet. I'll tell you when we are."

"All right then," Ginny huffed. She was a little tired and, truth be told, she was getting nervous. They'd been having a great time on this trip, holding hands in art museums, lying on beaches, bundling up against the cold in Russia, practicing linguistic charms on each other in every country, having sex in ways and places Ginny could never have imagined… But what was going to happen when they went home in a few days? She had to find a place to live, she had to see Harry again, with whom she had started a strong and even sometimes lively correspondence, she had to explain herself to Hermione and George… Would Oliver still want to be involved? She had a feeling he was the kind of guy who wouldn't be averse to a sort of summer romance type situation. Maybe she was that kind of person too; this time, however, she didn't want things to end. She'd felt more alive the past year than she had in a long time, and she felt she mostly had Oliver to thank for that. True, she'd been looking at beautiful art, and writing again had made her very happy, but it was all kind of thanks to Oliver. He had brought her into the world of art for the first time, and being in his painting class with Hermione had been what led to the whole assignment heading her way. So really, she could chuck everything positive about the year up to Oliver. She wanted that happiness to stay.

"If you're ready," he said, bringing her out of her reverie, "we could even leave now. I've got two things I want to show you today, if you haven't got anything else to do."

"Well," Ginny said, deciding to forgo earrings, "seeing as I hadn't even planned on coming here at all, your plans are the only ones we have."

"Perfect," Oliver said, smiling and grabbing their jackets. "Then off we go."

"Ludwig Köln," read Ginny. Oliver had found a quiet corner of their little bed and breakfast to Apparate from, and they had appeared in an alley near the building they now stood in front of. It was quietly imposing, as were most of the big museums they had been to, and Ginny was curious about what might make this one different than others Oliver could have taken her to. "What's so important here?"

"You'll see," he said. "First let's look at some Dali."

They did. They wandered through Modernist, Surrealist, Impressionist, and Dada paintings slowly, offering commentary on some, standing respectful and silent before others. Ginny desperately wished she had brought her notebook with her so she could jot down some of her thoughts, but at the same time, the experience of the museum without a concern for future articles was wonderful as well. In any case, at least one of her hands was always occupied; Oliver hadn't let hers go from the moment he'd clasped it to Apparate with her.

He seemed less playful than usual today. Usually he was much more… well, trouble, if she were honest, laughing constantly, distracting her with kisses and other flirtations, worrying more about his own paintings than those of the masters they had seen, but not in Cologne. He seemed introspective, almost somber in comparison with their other experiences together. It was almost enough to worry Ginny, but she had a little less attention than usual to spare for Oliver. The collection of paintings in the Ludwig Köln was probably the most varied and breathtaking she had seen so far. Thinking on it, maybe that was why Oliver had seemed so quiet.

"All right," he said, as they made their way to the end of the Cubism gallery, "up ahead is what I wanted you to see. Somehow we've managed to avoid him so far, but I found this one out."

The Aesthetic of Consumerism and the Media: Pop Art, read the placard above the open doorway into the next corridor of art. Ginny frowned. She had no idea what, or whom, Oliver was talking about. "Well, lead on, then," she said. "I'd thought we'd seen everyone already, so this should be…"

She stopped. There, on the center of the pale wall, was a rather small painting that popped with larger-than-life color. The paint, or whatever material it was, seemed to jump right off the canvas at her. The background was bright orange, providing a contrasting surface for the flag painted there to almost frighten the viewer with its intensity. It was red and white stripes and white stars on a blue background; she recognized it as American thanks to her time in Utah.

Oliver's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling the hand he still held behind her back. "It's called Flag on Orange Field," he murmured, continuing to read off the card beneath the painting. "1957, encaustic on canvas." She could feel his lips quirk in the space right next to her ear. "Guess who painted it? I don't know if you'll get it since I'm guessing you never really did that homework assignment from all that time ago."

Ginny breathed in. "Jasper Johns," she said, laughing quietly. Oliver joined her. "You're right, I never really did. I'm sorry, I know I was probably a terrible student."

"You're the best student I've ever had," Oliver said, and his voice was surprisingly sincere for a moment. However, his levity returned with his next sentence: "And I'm not just saying that because none of the others wanted to sleep with me."

"Oh, so that's all I am, hmm?" Ginny asked, trying to sound like she was joking. She wasn't sure if she pulled it off, but Oliver seemed to think it was funny, because he chuckled and kissed her cheek. He kept his chin pressed against her shoulder as they looked at the painting together. "What do you think it means?"

Oliver was silent for a moment. "Well," he said, "I know what it meant to Johns. But what it means to me right now is that no one country can represent how much I've enjoyed this time with you." Ginny tried not to gasp. Oliver had been noticeably close-mouthed as far as "end of trip" speeches, although she'd been trying to coax something out of him; it seemed like she'd just needed to wait for the right moment. However, she was somewhat disappointed when that was the end of it. He fell silent again, and when Ginny turned her head to see what he was doing, his eyes were fixed on the painting. Ginny turned to face it again.

"Every time I think about Jasper Johns now I think of you," Oliver said.

When they returned to the bed and breakfast after they'd eaten dinner, Ginny suddenly remembered what he had said to her that morning. "So," she said, trying to sound as casual as she could, "what was the other thing you wanted to show me?"

Oliver grinned at her, tossing his jacket onto the bureau. "Well," he said, "I thought maybe we'd have a little gallery showing in here on our own. I got some wine and everything," he added, reaching into the fridge. "Sorry it isn't awfully fancy or anything, I was a little rushed."

"That's all right," Ginny said, still a little confused. "Where's the art going to come from?"

Oliver's grin softened a little. It looked almost nervous. "Well…" he said, uncorking the bottle with his wand and pouring the wine into the glasses he'd probably set out for the occasion, "I'll provide it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Really?" she asked. "Did you steal something from the museum and I just didn't notice?"

"Ha, ha," Oliver said, handing her a glass. Then he reached into his suitcase. "I had to do a fair bit of magic to scale down the copies I made so they'd all fit in here," he explained, "but here. I wanted to show you this… And, well, I wanted to give it to you. Consider it thanks, I suppose, for giving me this opportunity."

As he spoke, he handed Ginny what looked like a sort of scrapbook; however, her mum had been into magical scrapbooking for a while and the books she used typically weren't this … large. She looked at the cover, bound in smooth, dark leather. Embossed in silvery letters was her first name. She glanced up at Oliver, who had sat next to her on the bed, his arm passing behind her and his hand resting on the bed. His chin was on her shoulder, much as it had been in the museum earlier. "I thought I would name it after you," he explained, his cheek heating up slightly. Ginny found it kind of adorable that he was nervous. "I wanted to be clever and call it something that just kind of represented you, but after a while I just thought, 'Well, why bother trying to come up with something better than her own name?'" He kissed her temple briefly. "So go on, open it up."

Smiling and putting her glass on the bedside table, Ginny obliged. On the first page was printed, "Art isn't usually a person." Furrowing her brow, she looked up at Oliver, but he only gestured that she should turn the page. She did, and there, spread across the page, was the first painting of her that Oliver had ever done, the one from the classroom. She smiled again, remembering, and Oliver buried his face in her neck. "This sounds silly," he murmured, lips moving against her hair, "but I'm a bit nervous about this. I just really want you to like it."

"Oliver…" Ginny began, but as she began to turn the pages again, she found her voice cut off. Picture after drawing after sketch after painting of her followed each other; it was easy to follow the progression of their relationship through the paintings, as Ginny's attitudes and expressions became more and more like her, as Oliver grew more and more familiar with the ways she moved and looked. Some of them were almost unbearable for her to look at, as he'd captured her in vulnerable moments. Others frightened her a little, capturing her in a moment of anger or ugly frustration. Still others seemed to almost glow with the feelings Oliver and Ginny had been exploring lately. Page followed page, portrait followed portrait as Ginny continued to flip slowly through the book. At some point, although she wasn't sure when it started, she found that tears were leaking down her face. Pausing before she turned the last page, she wiped her eyes hastily, anxious not to get any water on the book.

"Now, the last one is a bit different," Oliver explained, and his voice was strangely cautious. "The other ones I'm planning on compiling into a sort of gallery so I can get back into exhibiting again, if you don't mind, but this one is just for you. I painted it after that time in the shower in Utah… It's one of my favorites that I've ever done."

Ginny smiled reassuringly, eyes a little watery still, and turned the final page. She gasped. There, laid out in vibrant colors and natural stillness, was a painting of Oliver and Ginny. They were nude, but not shocking, and they were lying on a bedspread together. Their bodies were perfectly fit together, legs tangling, one of her arms resting on top of his, noses pressed up against one another. The solid-colored areas looked like homages to Van Gogh, with different shades of blue, green, red, and beige blending and swirling, adding visual interest to the otherwise very quiet painting. Their skin was rendered masterfully; it almost seemed to glow, the way she noticed that his skin sometimes did in the morning sunshine if he slept longer than she did.

"It's…" Ginny began, voice slightly choked on the emotion that suddenly welled up inside her, "it's beautiful. Oliver, it's so beautiful. I absolutely love it."

Oliver lifted his chin from her shoulder to kiss her cheek. He pressed his lips to her skin for a long moment, then broke away to speak. "I should be thanking you, Ginny," he said. "You've given me the opportunity to travel around and see more art than any artist has a right to see. You've been patient while I tried out a million different methods and, probably most importantly, you've given me the inspiration for one of the most powerful series of sketches I've ever done." Ginny still stared down at his painting of the two of them. Every moment they had spent together over the year flashed through her mind; each still image seemed to superimpose itself over the painting in her lap. Again, she thought about the next few days: their upcoming return to England, the apartment hunt she was putting off, the reunion with Harry, Ron, Hermione, George… She wanted to be on very solid and easily understood territory when they met again. Again, she looked at the painting.

"Ginny," Oliver said, speaking more slowly and leaning his head once more against her temple, "I have a question for you."

"Oh?" she responded, too wrapped up in the art on her lap to really respond. However, when he remained silent for a moment, she tore her attention from the book and moved her face away from his to meet his eyes. He responded by pressing his forehead to hers; clearly he wanted to look at her, but also to be in physical contact with her.

"Ginny," he said again, "I was thinking… You probably need to find a place to live when we finally get home, yeah?" Ginny nodded. It was a little odd that Oliver had brought this up right as she'd been thinking about it. Maybe there was something about his painting of them that brought up thoughts of home and living arrangements. Ginny could certainly say so. They looked so happy, so peaceful, so well-fitting… Ginny forced herself not to go down that thought pathway. She wasn't likely to come back, and Oliver looked like he was trying to work up his next sentence. "I was thinking," he repeated, "and, I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I just wanted to bring it up…"

"You're never this nervous," Ginny teased gently, pressing her lips against his lightly, then again with a little more passion. Before she really had a chance to figure out what was happening, Oliver was lying on top of her, kissing her hungrily, nipping at her collarbones until she was moaning. Grabbing his wand off the side table and dispensing with the usual buildup, Oliver vanished their clothes and reached down to rub her clit as his lips locked around her nipple. Ginny's moans filled the air, and as he rubbed up and down her slit slowly, Oliver could no doubt tell she was ready. Smirking at her, he brought his fingers from her base to her mouth, probing inside gently, letting her suck her own fluids from him.

Then, after a moment of rubbing the head of his cock at her entrance, Oliver thrust inside her. This was nothing like the painting he had done of them. They moved fast, Ginny's moaning and Oliver's panting increasing in speed and volume and he pumped in and out of her, more and more quickly, over and over. Ginny loved when he came onto her like this, fast and animalistic, wordlessly acknowledging that there was something to be said for these bumps in the night, that transient sex could be just as good as sex as production.

After a few moments of jerky thrusting, Ginny, who had gotten turned on unusually quickly, shuddered around Oliver's cock, leading him to a climax which quickly followed hers. Panting, they both collapsed onto the bed, not even taking the time to crawl under the covers. Now, she thought, now they looked like the painting again.

Trying to fight the post-sex fog, Ginny asked, "What were you going to ask me earlier?"

Oliver grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. "You're going to think I set you up for it now," he said. "I hadn't exactly planned on things going this way, but I guess it works out better for me." He paused. "Ginny," he said slowly, pulling her closer against him as he spoke, "I think we've both gotten fairly attached on this trip. I know at least I like being around you and, honestly, I'm not really excited about that coming to an end." He stopped again, kissing her nose repeatedly, almost robotically, over and over again. "Ginny… What do you say we make living at my place a permanent thing? Or," he added, seeing her jaw drop, "you know, semi-permanent. Just, you know… I'm asking you to move in with me."

"I… wow, I don't know what to say, Oliver," Ginny replied. She spoke slowly too. "You're right, though, you did set me up a little. Not that I mind." She paused. She thought about how living with Harry had ruined things. She thought about how living with Oliver had been what started them. She thought of the first time they hadn't bothered with the front of reserving two hotel rooms. She thought about that immortal memory in the Salt Lake City shower. She thought about drinking wine peacefully in Italy, nothing troubling them, no arguments, no routine.

"Just think about it, I-" Oliver began, but Ginny cut him off with one finger against his lips.

"Oliver," she said, "if I'm totally honest with you, I've been thinking about it for a while. I knew you weren't really the kind of person for permanency, and that you could survive without stability, so I never expected… I guess I never anticipated anything coming out of this. And I surprised myself by being okay with it. Whether anything ever happened or not, being with you was fun. I didn't expect I'd come back to England with a lot of regrets from the year I'd spent with you." She paused again. "Having said that, I didn't want it to end. I'm glad you took the time to stretch out this trip, because I was planning to dawdle as much as I could. At first I thought it was about the art and all the other work I've yet to see; now I think it's because of you." Ginny took a deep breath. "I'm going to say something scary now. I love you, Oliver. Whatever that means, whatever time we have together, whatever the nature of our relationship and our lives separate or not, I know I love you now. And," she finished, smiling a little, "I guess this was all to say that I'd love to live with you, and that you did an excellent job of reminding me what I would be missing if I said no."

Oliver's smile could have lit the room.

* * *

><p>AN: We've reached the end! I know, I feel like it was a little fast too, and someday I may rework and simplify it, but I wanted to give you all something to end on before I leave for Europe. I hope you could enjoy it anyway!-TheGoldenAge


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